Crossfire of Stardom
by LaylaBinx
Summary: "Human blood is an exceptionally rare material in these parts of the universe and can be used for many wonderful and terrible things. And your blood, my young friend," the voice lowers and hitches a little in an uncomfortable mixture of greed and reverence. "Your blood will fetch a very hefty price." Gratuitous Peter!Whump and hurt/comfort within!
1. No good comes from straps and tables

**Hello everyone! Hope you're all doing well! I've wanted to write this story for literal years now (ever since the first movie came out) and just never had the time. It's been a lot of fun and I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! :D**

 **A/N: The title comes from Shine on You Crazy Diamond by Pink Floyd; it seemed oddly appropriate**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing =/**

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Peter flinches.

There's something dripping on his face. Something cold and wet and falling from enough height that the impact against his skin is stinging. He winces and forces his eyes open, frowning when he discovers that it's a much harder task than it usually is. His eyelids feel heavy and bruised and his eyes feel like they've been rubbed raw with sandpaper. It takes several long seconds for him to open them all the way and when he does he immediately gets a stinging drop of something in his left eye for his efforts.

He curses quietly and grumbles, shying away from the annoying and intrusive dripping that continues to fall on him from above. Considering that fact that his eyeball hasn't dissolved into a puddle of horrific goo he's reasonably certain the dripping is just water. He's not sure where it's coming from but a safe bet would be the pipes in the ceiling.

He blinks rapidly, trying to clear his vision from both the water and whatever the hell else is going on. Judging by the heaviness of his eyes and the rest of his body, he's reasonably certain he's been drugged. By what and by whom he's not sure; one step at a time.

His head feels full and weighted and if he wasn't already laying down he might wonder if he was top heavy. There's a dull, full body ache that seeps into every joint and bone in his body and his arms and legs are stiff and unresponsive.

He tries again and comes to a rather alarming realization: he's strapped down to a table. He'd been so busy worrying about the water dripping on his face that he hadn't even noticed the thick leather straps looped across his legs, torso, and chest. They're tight and rigid and try as he might, Peter can't shake them loose.

"The hell is this…?" he hears himself mumble, his voice syrup-thick and words slurred. Yup, definitely drugged. He tries again, struggling against the restraints holding down his arms and legs and is met with the same lack of progress. It's a little terrifying, a little disconcerting, but mostly it's just annoying.

"Hello?" he calls out, voice bouncing off the walls and echoing off high ceilings. He's able to turn his head slightly, just enough to make out the length and width of the room he's in. It's not a big room but then it doesn't need to be; he's the only one in here and it looks like that will remain the case for the foreseeable future.

The walls are metal with large, heavy bolts and brackets holding the panels together. There's what looks like a work bench shoved into one corner of the room and a metal bin next to it that looks like it might be used for trash. The ceilings are high enough that he really can't make out where the walls end and the ceiling begins but judging from the stinging drops of water that are still landing on his face every few seconds, he's guessing they're pretty high. He can just barely make out the outline of several pipes and shafts snaking their way up the walls and into the ceiling but they disappear upward into the gloom.

Peter pulls against the restraint on his left wrist one more time, wincing when the strap digs into his skin painfully. He growls in defeat and slumps back against the table, head rolling loosely against the cold metal. He needs to get out of here, get off this table and find a way to get the hell out of Dodge, but the drugs that are still coursing through his system, whatever they are, are making him feel dizzy and lightheaded.

He rolls his head to the side again and sees a door across the room. It's made of thick metal like everything else but there's a small window up toward the top and he thinks he sees someone walk past it after a second.

"Hey! Hello! Can anyone hear me?!" he calls out again, desperate to get some kind of attention. "Does somebody wanna tell me what the hell is going on here?!" He's not exactly sure what's waiting for him on the other side of that door but it can't be worse that what's waiting for him in this room.

"Is anybody out there?! Hello!" The words bounce around the room like rubber balls and fall flat like lead balloons. No one hears him and no one answers the door.

Peter grumbles another curse and sighs, blinking up at the shrouded ceiling just in time for another water droplet to smack him in the face. He glares; that leaky pipe is going to get on his last nerve very shortly…

He tries a different approach this time and tries to think back to the last thing he remembered before waking up in this room. They had been on a job on Walsh, a little trader planet just outside of the Parsa quadrant. It hadn't been anything big or high profile, nothing that would have garnered extra attention on their parts, but someone had been watching them apparently. Or, more specifically, someone had been watching _him_.

He doesn't remember much but he knows they were scheduled to meet with their would-be employer in a shop at the edge of the city. The others had been right behind him, at least he thought they were, but when he ended up at the designated meeting spot he was alone. He remembered turning to search the crowd for his missing companions and that was it, lights out. No warning, no fight, just darkness. And then he was here.

Problem is, he doesn't really know where _here_ is. Judging by the walls and the pipes, he's guessing he's in a warehouse or a factory of some kind but he can't be sure. The air is thick with the smell of rust and evaporated fuel and heavy, dark patches of corrosion on the walls around the room lead him to believe this place hasn't been used in a very long time.

He tries the straps again, pulling as hard as he can against them. They cut into his skin and leave raw, red marks across his wrists but he keeps trying. Whoever had taken him, whatever they had planned, it couldn't be good. Good things generally don't happen after you wake up to find yourself strapped to a table.

There's a shuffle of movement outside the door of his room and Peter stops struggling for a brief second to listen. There are footsteps, coming slowly and closer to his door. He doesn't know if that should make him struggle more or stop moving altogether so he compromises and fidgets with just the straps at his wrists, abandoning the ones on his legs.

The door creaks open a second or so later and the figure in the doorway is shrouded in shadows against the backdrop of bright light in the hallway behind them. They're not tall but they're not short either and there's an odd hunched stoop in the way they stand that makes Peter believe they'd probably be at least a foot taller if they stood up to their full height.

He turns his head to get a better look at the figure standing in the doorway but suddenly a painfully bright light snaps to life over his head and Peter finds himself blinded and squinting. He blinks rapidly, tears flooding his eyes at the harshness of the light, and tries to make out the movement of the figure as it shambles into the room.

"Oh my dear friend," the figure says in a deep, garbled voice. There's a horrible pitching quality to it and it warbles up and down between alto and baritone, high and grating at one moment and low and shuddering the next. "How lucky I am to have found you."

Peter feels an involuntary chill at the words and he tries to keep a neutral expression. "Not feeling so lucky on this end, pal," he mutters, squinting just a little in an attempt to see who he's talking to. The figure is almost certainly male but most definitely not human or anything close to it. In spite of his best efforts, the light above him is far too bright and the figure is able to blend in seamlessly with the shadows around him.

"You will," the thing (?) tells him with a small, satisfied chuckle that sounds like broken glass and ruptured fault lines. "You are going to be part of something so much bigger. You will see."

There's a flicker of light in the thing's hand, something long and sharp and distinctly needle-shaped. Peter doesn't even have time to react before the needle in plunged deep into the side of his neck and the contents are injected into his bloodstream.

The effects are instantaneous and the room begins to blur and dip all around him. Peter swallows thickly, not sure if he's about to be sick or pass out, but his brain opts for the latter option and quickly begins shutting off everything from the forehead down. Peter struggles to stay conscious, he really does, but in the end it's just too much. His last thought before he slips into a deep, murky sleep is that his friends need to find him quick or there may not be anything left to find.

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 **More to come soon!**


	2. Of Disappearances and Scrambled Footage

**Hello everyone! Thank you all so much for reading and subscribing to my story, you guys are the best! I'll try to add new chapters as quickly/regularly as I can so stay tuned for more! :D**

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Gamora is pacing.

She can't stand still and the growing surge of irritation and anxiety is causing her to pace from one end of the ship to the other like a trapped, pissed off cat. Logically she knows there are better ways to channel her frustrations but at the moment all she can think to do is keep moving because if she stands still for too long and starts thinking, things will get bad.

Peter has been missing for over twelve hours now and none of them have a damn clue what happened to him. It was like he vanished into thin air in the middle of a crowded market street and no one saw it happen. All the threats and bribes and blackmail in the universe wouldn't do them any good because no one had any information to give; one minute Peter was there and the next he was just...gone.

It had taken close to an hour for them to realize anything was amiss and by that time it was already too late. Their employer had a shop set up at the far end of the market town and he seemed genuinely surprised to see them when the remaining Guardians entered his store. When questioned, he explained that he hadn't expected to see them until a few days later and that he had not yet completed the arrangements for their payment.

Gamora frowned at this, certain he was lying and that he had something to do with Peter's disappearance. They had received a message the day before requesting an earlier meeting time and Peter was the one who replied. The shopkeeper had to know they were coming and had set up some kind of trap for when they arrived. This was her initial thought at least. Their would-be employer, however, stammered nervously and trembled all over when she produced a very long, very sharp knife and held it up to his face in warning. She nodded Mantis forward, determined to get the empath's reading on the matter before she made the decision to test the strength of her blade against the man's face.

Mantis nodded and stepped forward, touching the shopkeeper's shoulder lightly. She immediately started trembling just like he had and shook her head violently, insisting that he was telling the truth and that he truly had no idea what had become of their missing companion. The man was terrified, that was easy enough to see, but Gamora reluctantly believed him and sheathed her weapon.

It didn't change the fact that Peter was still missing and no one seemed to know what happened to him. A search of the immediate surroundings proved fruitless as did an expanded search of the city. Gamora tried not to let it bother her, it hadn't been that long since she'd last seen Peter (thirty minutes? forty-five?), and she was certain they'd stumble across him eventually. But then another hour passed and another and another and there was no sign of Peter Quill anywhere and Gamora felt a small muscle in her jaw tighten. Something was wrong; she wasn't sure what it was but she just knew. Peter wasn't just missing, he had been taken.

They ended up back at the ship a few hours later, an exhaustive search of the city turning up the same lack of results. Rocket had wired into the city's surveillance feed and was combing through the footage one frame at a time in search of their missing friend. Drax hovered at his side, offering a second set of eyes for the search and scrutinizing each frame carefully. Mantis stood in front of the closest window, the one that overlooked the sprawling expanse of the market street, and watched the milling crowds with her large, dark eyes, hoping to see any sign of the missing Guardian.

And Gamora started pacing. She couldn't help it; anxiety made her fidgety and frustration at Peter's continued absence made her angry and she keeps pacing to keep herself from accidentally putting her fist through the nearest wall. She tells herself he's fine, he just got caught up somewhere, he'll show up, but she doesn't believe her own voice in her head and has a heavy, sinking feeling taking up residence in the pit of her stomach.

"Do you see anything?" she asks when she walks back to the front of the ship again, coming to a stop on the other side of Rocket's chair.

The thief shakes his head once and his lip curls back over his teeth briefly. "There's cameras all over this part of the city, Gamora, and they've been recording all day. It's gonna take some time to get to the footage we need."

Gamora resists the urge to growl. "We don't _have_ time, Rocket. Peter's gone and he might be in trouble and we need to find him _now_."

Rocket bares his teeth a little more in irritation. "I understand that and trust me, the second I find something useful I'll be more than happy to pass it along but right now I'm tryin' to pick through 300 different camera angles for footage of Stardork and you breathin' down my neck ain't exactly helping!"

"Bickering will not help us find Quill," Drax intones quietly, his eyes still locked on the multiple camera feeds pulled up on the screen. He's strangely subdued at the moment, voice low and eyes intense as he scans the frames. Peter's disappearance is affecting all of them in different ways but Drax seems to take it personally. It was no secret that he considered their motley team a family that had come to replace the one he'd lost and now one of them was missing and he was intensely devoted to getting him back.

"We need to focus our attention on these videos," he continues with a slight nod toward the screen. "They may be our best clue to finding Quill."

Gamora sighs and nods, shoulders slumping slightly in defeat. "You're right," she mutters, taking a step back and leaving the two of them to the digital combing. "Just...let me know if you find anything."

"You got it," Rocket quips over his shoulder but the usual snark and bite in his voice is gone. He's worried too, even if he won't admit it, and every bit of his concentration is going into picking through the camera frames for any sign of Peter.

Gamora takes another step back and finds her way over to the window Mantis is standing in front of. The empath is still studying the city stretched out in front of them, watching the buyers and sellers mill in and out of the street. She doesn't look over when Gamora comes to a stop beside her; she can feel her anxiety before she ever approaches.

"You're worried about Peter," she says simply, her soft voice bouncing off the window as she speaks.

Gamora resists the urge to snap a reply, knowing it's not fair to Mantis. "I am," she says with a small nod. "Peter can take care of himself but he also finds himself in over his head more often than not. I'm afraid this is one of those times."

"Do you think he's in danger?" Mantis asks, turning away from the window to face her. Her antennae sway lightly with the movement but she's not using her abilities right now; she's just being observant.

The other Guardian shakes her her once. "I'm not sure," Gamora tells her honestly, crossing her arms over her chest. "I want to believe he's fine and that we're all overreacting but I can't convince myself of that. I'm afraid Peter might need our help and we're not there to give it to him."

"I am Groot?" a tiny voice asks from down below and Gamora looks down to see Groot standing next to her leg. He has his small, woody fingers clutching her pants leg and he's looking up at her with worry-dark eyes.

Gamora smiles softly and stoops down to scoop the little tree creature into her hand. "Hey little one," she greets him warmly, balancing him in the palm of her hand while he clings to her thumb. "We're still looking for him but I'm sure he's okay."

Mantis' eyes flicker between Gamora and the little tree Guardian in her hand and she nods her head in agreement. "He'll be back very soon," she tells him with a bright smile. It feels like a lie but she tells it easily. The other Guardians might be worried but there was no sense in getting Groot worked up; he's was still a baby after all.

The little tree Guardian doesn't seem too convinced and he looks between Gamora and Mantis with a small frown. "I am Groot?" he wonders, voice splintery with concern.

Gamora just nods. "We're going to go look for him again in a little while," she says, scooping him up onto her shoulder with one hand. "Rocket and Drax are reviewing all the camera footage to see if they can find out where he went. I'm sure-"

There's a sudden barrage of curses from the front of the ship and Gamora exchanges a quick look with Mantis before they both hurry their way to the source of all the commotion.

"No, no, no!" Rocket snarls, paws flying over the control panels on either side of the monitors. "You gotta be kidding me!"

"What's wrong?" Gamora demands as she comes to a stop behind him, Groot clinging to a clump of her hair to keep from falling off her shoulder.

"Something happened to the camera feed," Drax tells her simply but there's a palpable hint of anger and disbelief in his voice when he speaks.

"What?!" Gamora snaps, eyes flying to the wall of camera footage in front of them.

"Something happened to the footage," Rocket grumbles as he continues to tinker and tamper with the controls on the panels. The line of footage rolls back a few frames and there he is, a brief but unmistakable image of Peter Quill comes into frame in the upper lefthand corner. Gamora feels something in her chest clench when she sees him, a feeling she doesn't have a name for.

"I am Groot," the little Guardian declares, pointing up at the screen with one woody finger.

"Yeah, I know, I see him too," Rocket grumbles back, adjusting another dial on the panels. "But look what happens between this frame and the next." He presses one of the buttons and the camera footage resumes motion, a flurry of movement happening in each frame. All eyes are locked on one though, the one that shows Peter.

From one second to the next, Peter is there and then he's gone. The people that were around him are still in the frame but Peter is worryingly absent. Rocket runs it back one more time and comes up with the same result: according to the footage, Peter quite literally vanishes into thin air.

Gamora stares at the screen for a second and shakes her head once. "No," she says simply, her voice sharp and tight. "No, there's something missing here. People don't just disappear like that, it's impossible." She's aware that there's a very tiny hint of panic creeping into her voice but she can't stop it.

"Normally I'd agree with you but this," Rocket says, gesturing toward the screen. "But I don't know how to explain this."

"Peter disappeared," Drax growls, a deep, angry thing that's equal parts indignant and furious.

"No, he didn't!" Gamora insists, slamming her hand into side of Rocket's chair angrily. "People don't just disappear! Run it back again."

Rocket sighs and shakes his head but he runs the footage back again. The same scene is replayed, showing Peter walking toward the shop one second and vanishing from the frame the next.

"Wait," Mantis says, stepping forward and crouching down in front of the screen. "Play it one more time," she says, looking back at Rocket with her big, dark eyes. "Please."

The thief does what she asks and rewinds the footage a few seconds back and presses play. Mantis watches the tape carefully before slamming her hand on the button and pausing the video in the split second between Peter being on screen and disappearing.

"There!" she exclaims triumphantly, pointing at a very tiny glitch in the footage that's only visible when it's paused at just the right second. There's a layer of static toward the bottom of the screen, very small and almost undetectable, but it's standing out like a beacon now.

"Someone jammed the camera feed," Rocket mumbles in disbelief, glaring at the staticky bar on the bottom of the screen. "Quill didn't disappear, he's been cut out of the footage."

"And what does that mean?" Gamora asks, her voice sounding strained and hollow in her own ears.

"I means I think you're right," Rocket replies, glancing back at her over his shoulder. "Quill's in trouble. Whatever happened, whoever took him, they were making sure to cover their tracks in the process. A cut like this," he says, gesturing toward the screen. "Was made with some kind of high tech jamming equipment I'm not familiar with. I don't know how to retrieve the original footage and un-jam it."

Gamora balks slightly at the answers. "So, what? We just sit here with our hands tied because the footage can't be retrieved?!"

Rocket bares his teeth a little in irritation. "I said _I_ couldn't retrieve the footage, not that it _couldn't_ be retrieved. I know someone who can help us decrypt the glitch and recover the original footage."

He scrubs at his face with his paws and grumbles to himself. "Cocky son of a…" he breaks off before he can finish the sentence and heaves a deep sigh. "He's a pain in the ass but he's the best one the go to for somethin' like this. If we want to find out what happened to Quill, he's going to be our best shot."

He sighs in defeat, glances at the camera footage one last time, and plugs in a few coordinates. "Buckle up, a-holes. Looks like we're headed to Sigma Tsel."

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 **More to come soon guys! Thanks for reading! :D**


	3. Harvest Season

**Hello everyone! Hope you're all doing well! I feel that I should go ahead and warn you all that there's a lot of talk of needles and blood in this chapter so if you're squeamish you might want to read through your fingers. Also I want to talk about Reeper because he's awful and by far one of the creepiest characters I've ever worked with. In my mind he looks like a cross between a Wendigo and a Skeksis from The Dark Crystal. Basically he's just a whole lotta wrong in a gross package. Anyway, I hope you all hate him as much as I do! :D**

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Peter comes awake with a jolt.

It takes him several long, confusing seconds to remember where he is (no idea) and what had happened (still no idea). He stares up at the impossibly bright light above his head, squinting and blinking painfully as it drills into his eyes. Judging by the cold metal table at his back and the somewhat familiar setup of the room, he's guessing he's in the same place. Where said place _is_ , however, remains a mystery.

He tries his arms and legs again and finds them still strapped down tightly to the table. His muscle response seems slower than it was earlier and the fuzziness in his head leads him to believe that it's a combined result of whatever was injected into him earlier. He'd nearly forgotten about it but the deep, dull throb in the side of his throat brings that memory back all too clearly.

"Oh, how delightful," a pitched and garbled voice declares from somewhere in the shadows of the room. "You're still alive."

Peter frowns and rolls his head to the side to see the hunched figure of the person (thing?) he'd encountered earlier. It shambles further into the room, dipping in and out of glaring lights and deep shadows. "I was beginning to fear you may not be. It's been so long since I've worked with humans, I was not sure if I had overestimated the dosage or not."

Peter groans and shakes his head a little. "Still kicking, unfortunately." He tests the straps at his wrists again and finds them still held fast. "Mind telling me why I'm strapped to this table?"

The creature chuckles and it's an ugly, rotting sound like water bubbling through a graveyard. "I couldn't very well leave you unrestrained; you would try to escape."

"Fair point," Peter grumbles, turning his head further to the side to track the movement of his captor around the room. He doesn't want to let him out of his sight but it's proving to be a difficult task especially since he's pretty much immobile at this point. "So who are you?"

There's a sound that's half laugh and half snort and all terrible. "Dear me, where are my manners? You may call me Reeper."

"Reeper?" Peter repeats, rotating his left wrist as much as he can to test the resistance of the straps. They're painfully tight and don't provide as much wiggle room as he'd hoped. "That a family name? You know, like part of the Jeepers Creepers clan? You might want to consider changing your name, dude, it gives off creepy connotations."

"You're much more irritating than you were before," Reeper (seriously? Alright, sure, fine) remarks with a hint of annoyance.

"I get that a lot," Peter shoots back, slumping back against the table and taking a deep breath to clear the spinning in his head. Whatever this person/creature/thing had injected him with earlier was still making him dizzy. "Look man, you wanna tell me you want with me? Why I'm here?"

Reeper gives him another flooded graveyard chuckle. "Why, you're here to be harvested, my young friend!"

What the hell? Peter shakes his head as the words filter through his drug-addled brain like molasses dripping through a funnel. "Uh, pass, thanks."

Reeper ignores him and slips into another swath of shadows. "You see, my friend, you are more valuable than you could possibly imagine. Everything about you, from your skin all the way down to your bones, is an immensely precious commodity. You will be worth billions, possibly trillions, of units by the time I am done with you."

The implication that he doesn't need Peter whole but in parts is more than a little disconcerting and Peter struggles against the table again. He needs to get out of here and find a way to contact his friends but to do that he needs to get off this table first.

"Well hey," he says, voice straining just a little as he pulls against the straps. "You seem like a pretty reasonable...thing. How about you let me off this table and we can work out a deal as far which parts of me are the most valuable. There are a couple I'd like to keep if it's all the same."

His captor says nothing but there's a soft swish that sounds like the shake of his head. "I'm afraid I cannot do that," he tells him without the barest hint of remorse in his voice. "You see, it is better for you to remain immobile during the process, otherwise your body could be damaged and that would decrease your overall value."

"Wouldn't want that," Peter mutters, still struggling fruitlessly against the straps. One of them slices into the skin at his wrist, not deep enough to bleed but deep enough to burn. He grits his teeth against the pain and pulls again.

There's a clatter of sound off to his left and he whips his head to the side to see Reeper's hunched figure stooped over something in the corner. "Relax, my friend, there is no need to be alarmed. I have done this many times and I can assure you the process is mostly painless."

"That's not reassuring."

Again, his captor ignores him. "I must take my time with you, valuable as you are, so I am afraid it may take several days for the harvest to be complete. Humans are such fragile creatures," the words fade off in a disappointed lament. "Ah, but it is wise to learn from one's mistakes rather than repeat them."

A large, metal cart rolls into view next to the table, its surface covered in a dirty brown cloth that's littered with several very shiny, very sharp instruments. Peter feels a wave a nausea roll through him at the sight.

"Oh, dear me, do not concern yourself with those quite yet," Reeper tells him with a gurgling chuckle, reaching out to pat one of Peter's restrained arms soothingly. It's the exact opposite of reassuring. "Those are for much later. I will need you desiccated before those tools will be put to use."

Peter doesn't know if he should feel relieved by that statement or terrified. He swallows thickly and stares up at the ceiling. "So, uh, what happens first?" he asks, not really wanting to know the answer but hoping to stall whatever the first step in this so-called "harvest" is for as long as possible.

"How curious you are," his captor remarks but it's clear from the horrifying glee in his voice that he's delighted to discuss his plans for Peter's slow, drawn out demise. "First you will be exsanguinated; I have found through much trial and error that the removal of blood and bodily fluids allows for a much cleaner collection afterwards."

He fidgets with something on the lower portion of the cart, gathering more supplies and equipment for the process. "Once you have been completely drained," he continues from somewhere below the table's edge. "I will harvest your skin and superficial organs before moving on the remove your fascia and muscle tissue. I will then collect your internal organs, separated by size and weight, of course, and the final step will be to break down your skeletal structure. It should take five, possibly six days to complete."

"Well that sounds...awful," Peter says for lack of anything better as he pulls against the straps once more. They never give and they never loosen but he never stops struggling.

"Oh, it will be," Reeper tells him and Peter can practically hear the small, solemn nod in the shadows. "But you will be dead so it won't matter. The draining process should provide a relatively painlessly death but it will take the longest." He pops up again on the other side of the table like a horrible jack-in-the-box. "In order for me to collect the maximum volume of blood from your body, I will need to drain you slowly. The longer your heart beats," he says, reaching out and tapping one hideously discolored finger to the center of Peter's chest. "The longer it will take. And I plan on drawing it out for as long as possible."

Peter flinches involuntarily at the sight of the gnarled, bony finger jabbing him in the chest. The skin, if it could be called that, it a mottle mix of brown and green and looks very close to being putrefied. If the rest the creature's body looks like that…well, Peter is suddenly glad he's been hidden in the shadows this whole time.

"So why blood?" he blurts suddenly, desperate for some kind of distraction or diversion or literally _anything_ that might buy him more time. "What's so special about that? You plan on using it as an aphrodisiac?" That thought by itself is disgusting, let alone the mental image of Reeper using it for such purposes, but Peter is stalling as long as he possibly can.

"Among other things," Reeper says with a flippant tone that makes it clear he has much bigger and greater things planned for Peter's sundry organs and fluids. "Human blood is an exceptionally rare material in these parts of the universe and can be used for many wonderful and terrible things. Why, a single vial of human blood, when collected from the right patron, can fetch upwards of one hundred thousand units. And your blood, my young friend," his voice lowers and hitches a little in an uncomfortable mixture of greed and reverence. "Your blood will fetch a very hefty price."

Reeper shudders along the side of the table in what could almost be considered a skip but looks a bit more like a convulsion. "Human blood is rare and valuable enough but to then discover you are also the offspring of a Celestial?"

Another deep, festering chuckle rumbles in his throat and the bony, putrefied hand strokes Peter's hair delicately. Peter resists the urge to flinch back. "You are a marvelous treasure indeed. The immense power Celestial blood can hold, the sheer magnitude of what could be done with it...you are going to make me very rich indeed."

Peter does flinch this time because this is all becoming _waayy_ too much. "All right, look man, I didn't want to have to pull this card but you forced my hand. I'm part of an intergalactic team that has ties to some very high and powerful agencies. If you kill me or harvest me or whatever it is you're planning to do, they're gonna come after you and you're not going to like it when they find you."

His captor laughs then, a loud, shrieking sound that's much more jarring and haunting that his grim chuckle. It's the sound of spilled blood and slaughter houses and innocent men being led to the gallows. The laughter is by far the most terrifying thing about the thing holding him captive; at least that's what Peter thinks until he actually sees him.

There's a shuffle of movement and suddenly Reeper is no longer in the shadows, he's standing in the blinding white light in all his ghoulish glory. He's a horrifying hodgepodge of parts and pieces, stitched together crudely in a careless, offhanded way. His body is a mixture of skin and scales and sinew, patched together like a living quilt. None of his limbs match and the digits on one hand (paw?) are completely different from the other. The fingers that had touched him earlier look like they're heading straight for a disastrous case of gangrene and the fingers on the other hand are not fingers at all but long, sharp claws that look like they're composed of bone and steel.

His face is the worst. The eyes are too wide and manic and the lack of eyelids make them look like they're going to tumble out of their sockets at any moment. One is bright yellow and slit down the middle like a lizard's and the other is an inky, pitch black that reflects the light around the room like a marble. The lower half of his jaw is sharp and jutting forward past the upper mandible, the skin peeled back and exposing gleaming white bone. The upper part of his jaw does not completely meet the lower portion but it's all pointed and narrow and it gives him the appearance of wolf crossed with a large deer. He's a terrifying mixture of Frankenstein's monster and the _Island of Dr. Moreau_ and Peter feels his breath seize in his throat.

"Oh, my dear friend," the gruesome creature chides with a death rattle chuckle. "I do not fear your friends or the agencies they work for or any threat you might make towards me." He reached out and snags one of Peter's arms with the bone-claw hand and rolls it to the side so the joint is laid open and bare. "I make my living as a harvester and trader and have never encountered an agency I feared."

Before Peter can react, Reeper plunges a long, gleaming needle into the the large vein in his arm and hot, thick blood begins shooting through the tube connected to it. Peter bites back a curse at the painful pinch and struggles to pull away as the creature sidles around to the other side of the table.

"With the amount of money you will make me," he continues, grabbing Peter's other arm and piercing it with a second equally long needle. "I am willing to take my chances against your friends and agencies."

The tubes connected to each needle lead to a large collection bag on the floor beneath the table and Peter has hazy, distant memories of going with his mother to the doctor's office when she had to get blood drawn. It was nothing like this, the amount was minimal compared to the volume being drawn from his veins now. For the first time since he regained consciousness he stops struggling against the straps holding him down, knowing the movement will just increase the amount of blood draining out of him. He clenches his teeth tightly, painfully aware of the needles piercing the veins of each arm.

"I would suggest you lay still for a while, this process does tend to cause dizziness," Reeper tells him, poking at each bag gently like he's seeing a container of liquid gold instead of human blood. "It's alright if you lose consciousness as well; I do not plan on draining you completely today. This will take a while." He stands then and makes his way toward the door, leaving Peter to slowly bleed out on the table.

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 **Thanks for reading guys! More to come soon! :D**


	4. Sigma Tsel

**Hello everyone! Hope you're doing well! Not much to say about this chapter but Cud was fun to write! Hope you all like it! :D**

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"You're sure about this?" Gamora asks for what feels like the tenth time that morning.

"This place? No. The guy we're meeting with? Absolutely," Rocket tells her as their ship shudders to a stop in the docking port. The shipyard is small but completely full and the Milano takes up the last available space much to the annoyance and irritation of the the other vessels that are circling the the docking rows and waiting for a new space to open up. Despite it being obscenely early in the morning, the walkways leading to the planet's main city way are bustling like a hive.

The plan to come to Sigma Tsel had been frowned upon from the very beginning and had there been any other alternative, literally _anything_ , they wouldn't be here. But Peter was still missing and their hopes of finding him on Walsh were getting smaller by the second so dramatic measures would have to be taken. Once it became painfully clear that Rocket wouldn't be able to unscramble the video file (much to his chagrin), he had sent word to an old acquaintance on Sigma Tsel who had agreed to see them the next morning. In spite of the knee-jerk reaction to steer clear of a sweltering, anarchic planet like Sigma Tsel, the promise of help was enough to draw them there with little complaint.

That promise didn't change their attitude about where they were going, though. There were places similar Sigma Tsel all over the galaxy but literally nothing like it in existence. It was one of the only places in the universe that was completely lawless and would likely stay that way until the planet crumbled away into nothingness. Every manner of vice and sin was freely available and the concept of legality was a suggestion at best. It was a complete cesspool of the worst the universe had to offer but it was also the place to find things and get information. There was an almost unspoken understanding among every single species throughout the galaxy: if you needed something and didn't mind seeing the dark, ugly underbelly of rationality and reason, go to Sigma Tsel and you could find what you needed.

"Pretty much goes without saying but keep an eye on your surroundings while we're down here," Rocket mutters as he checks his weapon one more time before they make their way off the ship. "Sigma Tsel has all the comfort and hospitality of the Kyln with less than half of the rules, which is to say none. There are no laws, no moral codes, nothing to keep the peace other than the desire to keep your body free of bullets. If something happens down here, we're on our own."

There are a series of grim, silent nods in agreement before they step out onto the nearest walkway.

"Everyone stay close and keep up," Rocket tells them as they clear the walkway and step onto the dirty, crowded streets of the city. "Cud's place is about a quarter mile from here, an easy walk if we don't get jumped or murdered along the way."

"Is that something that could happen?" Mantis asks from somewhere toward the back of the group, her eyes wide as they stumble their way through the city.

"It's a very real possibility," Gamora mumbles back, reaching out and snagging the empath's arm and repositioning her between herself and Drax. Mantis is cute and innocent and would likely be the first one picked off if she didn't take preemptive measures. Speaking of…

She looks down to see Groot poking his head out of the pouch strapped to her hip. She'd tucked him in there before they left to make sure he didn't get lost or stepped on or anything else terrible and he was currently watching from beneath the flap with his little wooden fingers latched onto the edge of the pouch.

"Stay in there until we get back to the ship, okay?" she tells him again, fixing him with a stern look as he starts to creep his way a little further out of the pouch. "I'm serious."

The tiny tree creature sighs heavily and slumps back into the pouch with a pout. "I am Groot," he grumbles, crossing his twiggy arms over his chest in annoyance.

Gamora resists the urge to smirk and focuses her attention back on the street; a single misstep could land them in a world of trouble in a place like this. "Mind telling us how you know this guy?" she asks, following closely Rocket weaves them in and out of the street while trying to avoid the majority of the crowd.

"Me and Groot ran a few jobs with him back in the day," Rocket tells her over his shoulder, baring his teeth at a shifty-looking creature with bright yellow skin that gets a little too close for comfort. The creature hisses back and darts into an alley.

"Cud's not big into weapons but he's a damn genius when it comes to tech and coding. Made a name for himself a couple of years ago by hacking into some of the flimsier banking systems and siphoning the money out from right under their noses. Made about 2 billion units in one hit if I remember right," Rocket remarks, more to himself than his companions. He shrugs one shoulder before continuing.

"Anyway, he owes me a favor for bailin' him out of a Barex prison ship and I figured now was the time to cash in," he finishes, coming to a stop in front of a tall, grey building with very tiny square windows dotted sporadically all over the face. There are large metal doors welded to the walls to make an entrance and at least half a dozen scantily clad Cyryns lounging and lingering around in front of them.

The Cyryns are varying shades of purple, the females a bright fuschia and the males a deep violet and they coo and fawn and paw at them as Rocket leads them past the door. Two of the female Cyryns reach out to stroke Mantis' hair as she passes by, their long purple fingers trailing up and down her arms and brushing over her antennae. Another one, a male, gives Gamora a suggestive look and says something in a low, silky voice as she passes. Gamora ignores him and hooks Mantis by the arm, tugging the empath to her side and marching them both into the building.

The inside of the building is just as stark and bare as the outside, the high walls grey and barren. Rocket nods them in the direction of an elevator and they follow him across the empty hallway and into the lift. It takes less than five seconds to reach the fourteenth floor and when they step out the room is shockingly different from the blank gray walls down below.

The room they step into looks like a computer threw up and then exploded all over the walls. There are monitors and screens on nearly every wall and at least a dozen keyboards and controls stacked underneath each of them. A plastic bin filled with discarded wires and scraps of metal is tucked into one corner and the floor and walls around it are dingy and pockmarked with burns and singes. Next to the bin is a large shelf that goes all the way up to the ceiling, covered in everything from communication equipment to hardware to digital implants, each piece tagged with a little piece of paper and name attached.

The room feels hot and staticky and there's a constant buzz and whirring sound coming from the collection of equipment. Something smells like it could be burning but it's hard to tell where it's coming from.

"Cud? You here?" Rocket calls as they walk further into the room, stepping over discarded equipment and pieces of machinery.

"In the back" a voice calls from somewhere in the twisting confines of the room, sounding both far away and remarkably close all that the same time.

"What is all of this?" Drax asks, poking a small metal square that buzzes at him when he touches it.

"Commissions from my clients," the voice says and a completely white, bipedal cat comes sauntering into view from behind one of the other shelves. "And I'll request that you do not touch them unless you plan on paying for the repair when it inevitably breaks."

The cat stops when he sees Rocket and takes a second look at the other members of his team. He sighs as if he expected as much but hoped for something different. "Well I see you're still surrounding yourself with the salt of the universe."

Rocket grins at him (or maybe it's a sneer). "And you're still getting tech boners from every piece of circuitry you come across." His expression does relax into a fond smile this time and he crosses his arms over his chest. "How's it goin' you old fleabag?"

The cat, Cud, shrugs his shoulders loosely and flips one paw in the air like he's gesturing toward the room around them. He's at least as tall as Rocket, if not a little taller, and his fur is long and snow white. There are smudges of ash and grease on his paws and a dark streak of it under one golden eye but otherwise his fur is pristine.

"I'm keeping busy," he says nonchalantly. "I would have much rather preferred to remain on Albira but, as you know, my sentencing included exile so…" he fades off and plucks discarded circuit board from the floor and examines it carefully for a moment before tossing it across the room. "Believe me when I say Sigma Tsel was not my first choice when it came to setting up operations."

He shakes his head once with a small sigh. "But you're not here to listen to my lamentations. Follow me," he says, walking back across the room and motioning them to follow him toward another room tucked behind a wall. Between the rows of computers and monitors, it's difficult to tell when one room ends and another begins but they find themselves tucked into a small, cluttered room that resembles an office. Once again, it's covered floor to ceiling in computers.

"Rocket tells me a friend of yours has gone missing and you need my help recovering the video footage of him," Cud tells them as he comes to a stop in front of one of the largest computers in the room. "Lucky for you, film recovery happens to be one of my specialties."

The cat's eyes narrow just slightly as he comes to realize something and he looks back, doing another scan of the group. "Speaking of missing friends, what happened to yours, Rocket? The talking tree?"

"I am Groot!" said talking tree chirps as he pops out of the pouch on Gamora's hip with an excited grin.

Cud stares at him blankly with wide eyes. "Oh my God, what happened to you?"

Rocket sighs softly. "It's a long story," he says, passing the copy of the video footage he had downloaded from Walsh's security feed to the cat. "Let's just say struggling with the trials and tribulations of fatherhood was never something I thought I'd be dealing with."

"Obviously not," Cud mutters as he takes the offered data and plugs it into one of the monitors, watching as it buffers and cleans itself on the screen. "Although I never did peg you for the paternal type so this is not a great surprise."

"'Mr. Cuddly'?" Mantis' quiet voice carries from the back, the words halfway between question and statement.

Cud freezes immediately, gold eyes narrowing to slits. "What did you say?"

"Aw, crap," Rocket mumbles, shaking his head in resignation like he knew something like this might happen.

Mantis blinks and points at a gold framed photo tucked into the far back corner of the shelf beside her. In the photo is an old woman sitting in a high-backed chair with a fluffy white kitten curled up in her lap. The kitten is wearing a navy blue collar with a tiny gold tag attached to it reading 'Mr. Cuddly.' Give the kitten a room full of computers and the ability to walk on two legs and it would be a dead ringer for their current host.

"You were a housepet?" Drax asks, staring at the photo incredulously.

Cud's ears flatten a little and he sneers at Drax. "I was a domestic for a short time, yes. After my provider died I ventured away from that life and pursued other endeavors. And if you want me to help you I suggest you drop this subject immediately."

"We meant no disrespect," Gamora interrupts quickly, holding up her hands in a placating gesture. "Some members of our party have a tendency to speak before they think," she continues, shooting a glare at Drax as the large warrior shrugs in apology.

Cud still looks more than a little pissed about the conversation, his long, bushy tail swishing back and forth in irritation.

"You must have cared for her very much," Mantis continues, her words soft and neutral. "To have kept her picture with you all this time." There's no hint of teasing or judgement in her voice and that's perhaps part of the reason the tension begins to bleed away from the cat standing across from them.

Cud lets out a slow sigh and shakes his head. "I did but that was a long time ago." He turns back to the screen once the file finishes loading. "I don't go by that name anymore."

The conversation stumbles to a halt there as their host turns his full attention to the screen and video footage displayed. He stares at the images and rewinds and replays the footage several times, watching carefully as Peter slips out of frame from one second the next. His tail sweeps back and forth in long, low arcs behind him and his whiskers twitch in concentration.

"Well, you were right about the film splice," he tells Rocket after a few more seconds pass. "It doesn't look like it was cut so much as it was folded in on itself. That's why you can still see the same image in the background between the frames." He indicates two such images on the screen, a man and woman conversing near a wall toward the back of the frame and another creature walking by pushing a heavy cart full of product. All of these images are clearly visible and unfazed by Peter's appearance and sudden disappearance; he literally blinks out of existence and no one appears to notice.

Cud frowns and tinkers with the footage a bit more. "Whoever did this did so remotely," he mumbles, eyes still focused on the screen. "They knew where the cameras would be and used something to collapse the film the minute they made their strike."

"Can you fix it?" Gamora asks, coming up to stand behind their host as he works. "Figure out a way to unfold the footage?"

The cat gives her a toothy smirk. "Of course I can, this is child's play compared to some of the things I've worked with in the past. Might take a couple minutes to get everything rearranged but I can get it pieced back together and good as new before you know it."

He turns his attention back to the film and begins adjusting a few of the knobs and switches littered across the panel in front of it. Some of them affect brightness and clarity, some stretch the image, and at least one breaks it into a complete negative of the original. It's a complicated process but Cud moves through the motions like he's done this more times than he can count.

"So how'd that run in with the Sovereign go?" he asks absently, sparing a quick glance at Rocket as he continues to adjust the film.

Rocket's eyes widen a little, as do all the other Guardians', and he frowns slightly. "How'd you know about that?"

Cud gives him a snickering laugh. "Everyone in this part of the quadrant knows about it. Trust me, pal, you and your team aren't exactly subtle. You take on a big assignment from a group like the Sovereign and then screw them over, nice touch, by the way, and your name is bound the be plastered on every communication channel in the cosmos. You all landed yourself with some pretty big publicity thanks to that one."

Rocket shrugs a little in response. "They were the ones who made big damn deal about some batteries."

"We also called them douchebags," Drax reminds him from the back of the room.

"Oh yeah, that," the other Guardian mumbles like he had completely forgotten that part of the exchange. He shrugs again. "Eh, it was nothing we couldn't handle."

Cud smirks again and shakes his head. "Whatever you say, pal. Just keep in mind that that encounter piqued the curiosity of a lot of people and you guys suddenly ended up at the top of a lot of lists. And you know as well as I do that being the center of attention isn't always the way to go."

The cat frowns, gold eyes narrowing slightly at a sudden thought. "I hate to say it but that might have been what happened to your friend. Limelight serves as target practice more often than not, Rocket," Cud says, casting another glance at his friend. "Remember that."

He turns his attention back to the film just as the final adjustments are taking place. It looks like a bunch of nothing for a few seconds until he splices everything back together again and presses play. The footage is the same one they had watched and rewatched a dozen times over the day before but this time there's something different about it; more specifically, there's _someone_ different about it.

Peter appears in the frame just as he had before but this time there is someone following very closely behind him. The figure is shrouded in something dark and tattered like a cloak and it obscures much of their features. Despite its hunched, stooping posture, however, it moves quickly and passes in front of Peter in a blur of movement that's almost too fast for the camera to catch. Whatever happens after that is obscured but Peter suddenly drops like he's been shot, the figure catching him and sweeps them both into an open stall a few feet away in one smooth movement. They disappear from the frame and never reappear.

For a moment no one moves, no one speaks, all that can be heard is the constant buzzing and whirring of machines in the room. Gamora is the first to find her voice and she speaks in a tight, clipped tone that's verging on righteous fury. "Play it again."

Cud nods in acknowledgement and runs the scene back. It plays out again over the screen in the span of a few seconds, seven to be exact. Peter is standing and then he's collapsing and then he's gone. It happens in broad daylight in the middle of a crowded street and yet whoever or whatever it was that took Peter managed to do so in a matter of seconds with no one even realizing it or bothering to interfere.

"I am Groot," the tiny Guardian intones, eyes locked on the screen.

"Looks that way," Rocket replies grimly. "I think somebody had their eye on Quill from the moment we touched down on Walsh. That call for an earlier meeting was a set up."

"So what do we do now?" Drax asks, expression unreadable as he stares at the frozen image on the screen. "We still don't know who took Quill."

"Not necessarily," Cud mutters, busily fiddling with one of the dials on the panel below the screen. The footage enhances dramatically, the image grainy at first before buffering into clarity.

"I saw something a second ago that might help identify your kidnapper. Hold on a second." He enhances the image even more and slows the footage down to a fraction of its normal speed.

Just before Peter drops out of frame, the figure in front of him reaches up and touches him with one long, bony hand. The fingers look like elongated claws, gnarled and sharp like they're carved out of steel or bone. It's not human and it's definitely not natural and the sight of it causes both Rocket and Cud to freeze.

"Is that…" Rocket asks, unable to even finish the question as he stares at the screen in silent horror.

"I'm not sure," Cud tells him, adjusting the frame one more time. The figure on screen turns just slightly as the footage rolls forward by a few microseconds and beneath the tattered hem of the cloak a jut of gleaming bone can be seen. It's sharp and jagged like the pointed tip of an animal skull and just as quickly as it appears, it's gone when the figure turns away to gather his prize.

"Reeper," Cud growls with a low hiss, ears flattening back against his head. He runs the footage back a few seconds and watches it again, shaking his head with finality when the same scene plays over. "It's him."

"You're sure?" Rocket asks, desperate for him to say no or give any other kind of explanation. "I mean, there's no way it could be anyone else?"

Cud shrugs in allowance and shakes his head. "I mean I can't be positive, not with the limited angle, but it definitely looks like him." He hisses again, glaring at the screen with palpable malice. "I'd recognize those claws anywhere."

He turns to Rocket suddenly, gold eyes turbulent. "Rocket, this is bad. If Reeper has your friend-"

Rocket holds up a paw to stop him and nods. "I know, Cud. I know…" He shakes his head and turns back to his companions. "Guys, we gotta go. Right now." He glances back over his shoulder at the screen and then turns his attention back to their host. "Thanks for the help, Cud. Really."

The cat nods once and motions toward the door. "You need to hurry."

That's all the urging the Guardians need and they quickly make their way back toward the front of the apartment, carefully sidestepping the piles of tech and equipment scattered all over the room.

"Rocket, what was that?" Gamora demands the minute the step out into the hallway. "Who is Reeper?"

"I'll explain when we get back to the ship," he tells her as they make their way to the landing. "Right now we just need to get off this planet."

The Cyryns are still lingering outside the building when they exit but none of the Guardians pay any attention to them. Rocket is busily punching in some kind of coordinates into device on his wrist as they walk, weaving them back across the city toward the docking yards.

"Is this someone you worked with?" Mantis asks as the dodge through the crowds, walking quickly to keep up.

"Hell no," Rocket snaps back, a hint of indignation coloring his voice. "Reeper is a Grade A psycho and a sadist to boot. He's got a rap sheet longer than Drax and Gamora combined. Short answer is this guy is bad fuckin' news and if he has Quill then we're in more trouble than I thought."

"Well, we have other problems to deal with first," Gamora mutters quietly, her dark eyes flicking to the side.

"We're being followed," Drax adds in, keeping himself planted between whatever threat is behind them and the rest of their team.

"Shit," Rocket mutters, chancing a glance back over his shoulder as they walk. "How many?"

"Two," Gamora tells him, keeping her head up and back rigid. "They've been trailing us since we left the building."

"Weapons?"

"Couldn't tell."

"Shit," Rocket growls again, looking up toward the walkway that would lead them back to the shipyard. It was at a dead standstill, the crowd packed in so tightly no one could go in or out. There was no way they would be able to make it back to the ship without getting caught in the process. Their options were a) make a run for it or b) stand and fight and honestly neither of those options were appealing.

"Alright," he mumbles as they continue to walk toward the blocked walkway. "Follow my lead." He turns right suddenly, ducking into a dingy alley and pressing up against the wall. The others follow suit, pressing their backs against the the grimy wall and doing their best to blend into the shadows. There's an unspoken understanding that a fight, probably a bloody one, is about to take place and they need to be ready to make the first move when it comes.

"Mantis," Gamora says, unclipping the pouch from her hip and passing it to the empath. "Take Groot."

Mantis nods and accepts the pouch, clutching both it and the tiny tree creature to her chest. Groot pops out of the pouch and looks from her to the others, frowning in confusion at whatever is about to happen.

There's a moment of tense silence and then the sound of footsteps. Gamora clenches her fists, Drax straightens his shoulders, Rocket releases the safety on his weapon. For a second nothing happens and then their pursuers step into the mouth of the alley and all hell breaks loose.

There's a flurry of sound and movement and gunshots and then, above all of that, the sound of voices.

"Whoa, hey, hey!"

"Knock it off, ya idiots! We're on your side!"

The Guardian's freeze mid-fight in stunned disbelief. They recognize that voice, both voices for that matter, but it's impossible because one of those voice belongs to someone who's been dead for months. There's no way…

"I am Groot!" the little Guardian cries excitedly, grinning wildly and waving his little arms.

As the dust clears from the alley, a flash of blue skin and red eyes can be see. Kraglin brushes dirt off his shoulder. Yondu grins. "How's it goin', twig?"

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 **Hey look, Yondu and Kraglin are back! Merry Christmas, y'all!**


	5. 12 percent of an escape plan

**Hello everyone! Hope you all had a good holiday! There's a brief reference in this story to one of my other GotG fics (Stages) You don't need to read it unless you want to; the basic premise is just that Peter still has a residual pool of Ego's power that he can occasionally use. Anyway, hope you all enjoy! :D**

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Everything smells like copper.

Peter's not sure if it's a side effect of the blood slowly being siphoned out of his body or the fact that said blood is being collected in little PVC bags beneath the table but either way it's disturbing. The whole room has an oxidized, rusty smell and it clings to everything from his clothes to his skin. It's gotten worse over the past few hours as more and more of his blood ends up outside of his body and Peter isn't exactly sure how much blood the human body needs to keep functioning but he's relatively certain it's more than what he has in him at the moment.

The drugs have taken a lot longer to work their way out of his system than he thought. Everything still feels heavy and unresponsive and his thoughts feel like they're getting fuzzier by the minute. Granted, he doesn't know how much of that is due to the drugs and how much is due to blood loss but none of that will matter if it kills him in the end.

Reeper had returned twice to collect the filled blood bags and replace them with new ones. All attempts at reasoning and bargaining were met with a quiet, broke glass chuckle and Peter quickly found out that it's remarkably difficult to make believable threats while strapped to a table and basically immobile. Reeper just smiled that weird, animal skull smile and tutted before he left the room again.

That had been a little over thirty minutes ago and if the previous two visits were any indication, he would be back in the twenty minutes or so to collect the filled bags. He had said the collection process would be slow and it was true: by Peter's estimate he's been slowly bleeding out for the past three hours now. The bags don't seem to collect much, maybe half a pint each, but Reeper has taken at least four so that was what...two full pints? Peter's not sure, all he knows is that he's dizzy and he can hear the quick thud of his heartbeat in his ears. He's also shivering but he's not really sure when that started; sometime within the past half hour he thinks. He needs to get out of here before Reeper drains anymore blood from him or he really will die strapped to this table.

He pulls against straps again and finds them just as tight and unyielding as ever. No great surprise there but it was still worth a shot. Through the waves of dizziness, he thinks he might have come up with part of an escape plan. Sure, it's a pretty crappy plan but a crappy plan is better than no plan at all.

The line connected to the needle in his arm is draped over the side of the table and Peter can move his hand just enough to hook his index finger around the line. It takes a bit of work but he manages to get a good hold on the line and braces himself for what comes next. He takes a deep breath, swallows heavily, and yanks as hard as he can.

The needle slides out of his arm with a sharp sting and Peter bites back the string of ugly curses that jump to the tip of his tongue. The pain makes him lightheaded and he has to take a few deep breaths to stop the room from tilting around him.

"Son of a bitch…" he mumbles, rolling his head a little against the table to clear his thoughts. His arm burns like hell and it's throbbing deep into the joint but he does his best to ignore it as he fumbles with the line and gets a better grip on the needle at the end. It's hard to get a hold of it at first, the slick metal slippery and coated with his blood, but he manages to get it gripped well enough between his fingers to make it usable.

Rotating his wrist toward his body, he's able maneuver the needle and push it up and into the strap at his wrist. At first he's a little worried that the needle won't be strong enough to push through the thick leather bands but with enough pressure and a little bit of manipulation he's able push the needle into the leather at an angle.

His elation at the success is short-lived, however. It's a slow, frustrating process and his fingers are going numb from holding his wrist at such an awkward angle. He clenches his teeth and keeps working, determined to hang onto what little progress he's made. Slowly, _slowly,_ one millimeter at a time, the needle pierces and pulls its way through the leather.

It feels like it takes forever but finally the needle pulls a large enough tear in the strap to be useful. It's not big, less than half an inch if Peter were guessing, but he's worked with less before and it's all he has time for now. He rotates his wrist a little, feeling the slightest bit of give thanks to the tear in the strap. He hopes it's enough, otherwise…

He doesn't give himself a chance to dwell on potential failure as he pulls sharply and forcefully against the strap in the direction of the tear he's made. At first it doesn't give, the leather still thick and stiff, but he pulls again, harder than before, and feels it start to stretch just slightly. He takes a deep breath and pulls again as hard as he can, gritting his teeth as the leather stretches tight and finally snaps.

The release is met with equal parts pain and relief, a breathless little laugh shaking its way out of him in the silence of the room. Once again, it's a short-lived sensation that crumbles under the realization that he's gotten through one strap out of about seven and his struggle isn't over yet. Still, it's a start and that's better than nothing.

The freedom of his wrist helps contribute to the loosening of the strap over his shoulder and with some careful, concentrated manipulation, he's able to rotate his shoulder enough for the strap to become gradually more slack. It takes a bit more work than the strap at his wrist but eventually he's able to loosen the shoulder strap enough that he can slip his arm free.

Peter loses track of time after that; he doesn't concentrate or think about anything other than loosening and eventually breaking through the remaining straps on his body. It takes a while, he doesn't know how long, but eventually he's able to rip the second line out of his other arm roll off the table, landing heavily on his knees on the ground below. The change in gravity coupled with the blood loss and the fact that he's been flat on his back for God knows how long is nearly enough to make him black out.

He stays on the ground for several minutes, trembling and sweating all over. His head is spinning and for several terrifying seconds he thinks he's going to be sick. The puncture wounds in his arms are bleeding freely, covering his sleeves and making the fabric cold and tacky. A cold sweat breaks out across his back and shoulders and drips down through his hair in icy rivets.

It takes more effort than he's happy with but he manages to sit back slowly on his knees, squeezing his eyes shut to stop the swimming in his vision. He doesn't feel like he can move but he knows he needs to, quickly, before Reeper comes back. With a shaky breath, he pulls himself to his feet, balancing himself against the table with a trembling hand. Once he's certain he can walk without falling over (probably?) he takes a few small, wobbly steps toward the door.

To his great surprise/relief/astonishment, the door is unlocked when he reaches it. It swings open easily and leads out into the hall, a long, dark stretch of corridor that extends for what seems like miles in either direction. Peter leans heavily against the doorframe, cradling one arm against his side as he hazily weighs his options. Neither direction looks better than the other but literally anywhere is better than here. He staggers away from the door and turns to the right.

His steps are heavy and stumbling and several times he finds himself staggering into the wall, bouncing his shoulder off the rough bricks painfully. He's dizzy and more than a little uncoordinated but he has to physically force himself to keep moving. The hallways stretches on endlessly in front of him, illuminated every few feet but a painfully white bulb on the ceiling. The spaces between the illuminated circles on the floor created impossibly dark shadows on every side and prove to be uncomfortably disorienting as Peter continues to stumble down the hall. He has the brief sensation that if he steps in the shadows he'll tumble down into the darkness so he makes a concentrated effort to stay in the lighted circles as much as he can.

He doesn't know where he's going (to be honest he never expected to make it this far) or what he plans on doing when he gets there. He barely has the clothes on his back, let alone a communicator or a weapon, and as far as situations go, he'd say he has never been so firmly up shit creek before. He knows he needs to try find some way to get in touch with his friend but he also knows that giving them a pickup location will be necessary and he doesn't really have that information at his disposal at the moment. He still has no freakin' clue where he is…

There's a flash of movement up ahead, shudder quick and fleeting as it disappears into the shadows. Peter freezes, arm still pressed against his side. His vision is blurry, granted, but the distance between himself and whatever he saw is so great that it wouldn't have mattered if he was firing on all cylinders or not. Whatever it was, if it was anything at all, was too far ahead of him to be seen clearly.

Peter remains stock still and frozen for several more seconds, waiting to see if he'd see anything else. He can't hear anything over the thrum of blood in his ears and his judgement is about 50% at the moment. He would _really_ love to have a gun right now…

Something hits him hard and sudden from the side and he finds himself sprawling onto the dirty floor. It happens so fast he doesn't even realize he's on the ground until he's coughing and blinking up at at the single bulb overhead.

"Oh, you are a naughty boy, aren't you?" Reeper's graveyard voice chuckles from the shadows and Peter feels his heart sink. "My own fault, though, I really should have kept a better eye on you. I always tend to underestimate human survival instincts."

Peter pushes himself up as quickly as he can but it's not quite quick enough. Reeper has the benefit of having all his blood in his body and also being much stronger than Peter is at the moment. Also, he's terrifyingly fast and silent, two attributes Peter would not have credited him with thanks to his hunched, decrepit stature.

He moves through the shadows in the hall like water and pounces on him like a lion, a deadly combination if there ever was one. "No matter," Reeper continues with a cheerfully grim grin. "I'll just have to use some better restraints next time." He reaches down and grabs a fistful of Peter's shirt, hauling him up effortlessly like he weighs nothing at all.

Peter struggles for all he's worth but it's not enough; Reeper's grip is painful and as inescapable as a bear trap. He needs some way to break free but nothing is coming to mind except…

He stops struggling suddenly and concentrates as hard as he can on the palms of his hands. He hasn't been able to do this in months, hasn't felt the residual tendrils of Ego's power since that last outburst with Acker, but he tries to recall it now. He never wanted this power, reviled it when he did have it, but he's willing to accept even the smallest inkling of it now.

For a few terrible seconds nothing happens and he hangs in Reeper's grip like a ragdoll. But then his fingers start to tingle, just a little at first, and it spreads into the palms of his hands. It's nothing like the power he had felt before, not as raw and terrifying, but it's still formidable and that's what he needs. He concentrates and clenches his fists in an effort to compress what little power he still has. Somehow he knows that this is all he has left, even after all these months, and he needs to use it as effectively as he can.

When the energy begins to feel like the crackle of a livewire in his hands, he reaches up suddenly and grip's one of Reeper's wrists. He doesn't have to focus on where the energy goes from there because it explodes outward like a bomb, severing Reeper's hand from the rest of his body and catapulting him backwards.

Peter lands in a painful heap on the ground, the disembodied hand still clutching his shirt. It twitches and shakes against his chest, nerve endings firing off into nothingness. He tries to reach up to pull it off but finds he can't move. That last burst of energy was just that, the very last he had in him. Every muscle feels like it's weighed down with a ten ton weight and the very act of breathing feels laborious and impossible. He can hear blood rushing his ears, a thick, heavy roar, and somewhere in the midst of all of that he hears a dry, brittle-bone cackle.

Reeper appears off to the side, looking at the stump of his arm in a mixture of fascination and awe. "How wonderful!" he exclaims joyously like the loss of a limb was possibly the greatest thing that had ever happened to him. "I knew you would be powerful but this was beyond my expectations! You truly are a marvel, my friend!"

He sidles back over to Peter, shuffling in that weird, sideways gait of his. He reaches for Peter with his remaining hand and stops, considering his options for a moment. "I apologize for this," he says in a very unapologetic voice, ducking out of Peter's line of sight briefly. "But I really cannot risk you escaping again."

There's a sharp, blinding pain as he effortlessly snaps Peter's ankle like a twig. Peter's hears some kind of noise come out of him but it doesn't sound remotely human; it's guttural and strangled like the last cry of a dying animal. All at once he's freezing and burning alive at the same time, waves of nausea flooding over him like a tsunami. His vision blurs heavily around the edges and shrinks to pinpricks of light overhead. Eventually his body gives up its battle with consciousness and his eyes roll back just as Reeper scoops him off the ground.

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 **More to come soon guys! :D**


	6. Q & A

**Hello everyone! Hope you all had a good holiday and a happy new year! Okay, so just like before there are some tie-ins to one of my other stories in this chapter. The story is called Carry On and once again, you don't need to read the entire thing unless you want to but the last section is specifically devoted to Peter and Yondu's reunion. That said, hope you all enjoy! :D**

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"I have...several questions."

"As do I."

"Same here."

"I am Groot."

"Yeah, well y'all are gonna have to hold off on the Q and A 'til we get off this planet," Yondu mutters, glancing back toward the mouth of the alley as a group of shifty-looking men pass by and leer at them. "I'll fill y'all in but not here; planet like this ain't no place to discuss recent events."

Gamora opens her mouth to protest a number of different things but she can't think of which one she wants to start with. _How are you alive? Is this a trick? Why are you here? Have you been following us?_ The list goes on and on down a vicious rabbit hole and she can't reign in one thought at a time to put into words. Luckily, Rocket beats her to it.

"No freakin' way," the Guardian snaps, teeth bared. "I don't know what you're tryin' to pull here but we ain't buyin' it." He looks back to the other Guardians for emphasis. "You really expect us to believe that you're Yondu, the same guy we cremated months ago? Yeah, sorry, I'm not takin' the bait."

The ex-Ravager rolls his eyes and sighs in frustration. "You really think I'm tryin' to pull a fast one on you? Now? In a place like this?"

"Yes," Rocket counters seamlessly, eyes narrowed in defiance. "We watched Yondu, the _real_ Yondu, die and we burned his body. I don't know who you are but you definitely ain't him."

"I can vouch for 'im," Kraglin chimes in from the back, his attention half-focused between their group in the alley and the shifty lot outside of it. "I didn't believe it at first either but it's him. Don't know how, but I know it's him."

"How?" Drax breathes from his place against the wall. "You died."

"Yep, we've established that," Yondu mutters with another roll of his eyes like the discussion of his death, resurrection, and reappearance in the Guardian's lives was nothing more than a slight inconvenience. "An' I'll be happy to go into more detail once we get outta here because I'm guessin' we have another thirty seconds or so before that group at the head of the alley decides to make their move."

The group indicated has grown from a few men to at least ten and they're eyeing the reunion in the alley in a way that is definitely not friendly. Robbery or murder, possibly both, were the clear intentions even if nothing was said.

Gamora narrows her eyes at the two former Ravagers. "Say we believe you," she begins quietly, voice barely above a whisper. "What then? What do you want out of this?"

The blue skinned ex-Captain regards her carefully with his dark crimson eyes. "I want the same thing you want, girl," he tells her in a quiet, clipped tone. "Find Quill an' make sure he hasn't landed his dumb ass in yet another situation he can't get himself out of. Boy's a walking trouble magnet and since you all lost 'im in the first place we're here to help you find him."

"We didn't lose him-" Gamora snaps back defensively but Yondu cuts her off.

"Well he definitely ain't here, is he?" he counters sharply, crimson gaze hard and unyielding. "Look, we're outta time. You want our help, you got it, but now we gotta move."

Gamora wants to argue but admits that he has a point. They need help finding Peter and at this point they're willing to accept it from even the most unexpected sources. "Fine," she grinds out through clenched teeth. "But if this is a trick-"

"You can kill me all over again. There, ya happy? Let's go."

"Wait," Rocket orders, eyes still locked on the former captain. "Name one thing Groot brought back when he was looking for that fin of yours."

Yondu offers a crooked grin. "He brought back a toe at one point. Still don't know where that came from."

"I am Groot," said tree creature says with a slow, sage nod.

"Alright, works for me," Rocket says with a shrug because really there's no way anyone else could have known about that except the three of them. He reaches into pouch at his hip and pulls out a small metal disc. "Everyone walk toward the mouth of the alley and be ready to make a run for it when I say so, got it?"

There's a chorus of nods and they turn as a group and begin walking to the opening of the alley, straight toward the clump of thieves/murders waiting for them at the end. It feels a lot like lambs being led to the slaughter except these lambs are more than capable of fighting back and have a few very large weapons at their disposal.

The second they're within reaching distance of each other, Rocket slings the disc into the middle of the opposing group and activates it. The disc lets out a powerful burst of electricity that knocks many of them unconscious and leaves the others severely crippled. The outburst is strong and violent enough that it spreads outwards and begins knocking down power grids in the surrounding area, much to the surprise and ire of the other inhabitant of Sigma Tsel.

"Now!" Rocket shouts, urging them all forward and out of the alley at a full sprint. In the midst of the surprise and confusion, they're able to push through the accumulated crowds and make it back to the loading dock with little issue. A few startled looks, a vicious curse here and there, and a single vendor trying to sell illegal weapons in the walkway are the only things they encounter during their mad dash back to the Milano.

Within minutes, they're pulling out of the docking station just as another ship swoops in behind them to take their place. The Milano weaves and dips its way through the traffic surrounding the planet, eventually entering open space and leaving Sigma Tsel and all its corruption and vice behind.

Once they've reached a safe enough distance away from the planet, Gamora turns to face their two newest additions and crosses her arms over her chest. "Alright, time to talk."

Yondu sighs, realizing there's no escaping the line of questioning coming his way any longer, and drops into the nearest chair. "Fire away."

"Okay," Gamora says with a small smile that's anything but friendly. "First of all, how? How are you alive?"

"Don't know," the former Captain tells her with a small shrug.

"Not good enough," Gamora counters sharply, eyes narrowing a little. "You promised us answers and now you're going to give them."

This earns her a sharp glare from the blue-skinned man. "I promised ya some answers but only if I have any to give. Some of the questions I _know_ yer gonna ask don't have the neat little answers ya want. Case in point: I don't know how or why I'm alive, I just am."

"That doesn't make any sense," Gamora says with a small shake of her head.

"I'm confused," Drax agrees from his place up near the console.

"Yeah, well y'all ain't the only ones," Yondu says, suddenly jumping to his feet and pacing across the floor like the combination of nervous energy and scrutiny is suddenly too much to bear. "I might be able to answer some'a the other questions y'all have but this ain't one of 'em. I died, yer right about that, and now I'm back an' I can't account for anythin' in between. Somethin' brought me back and I'm just as clueless about it as the rest'a y'all."

Mantis makes a tiny squeak sound in the back and all eyes turn to her. She looks up suddenly, dark eyes wide in realization.

"Mantis?" Gamora asks, shifting her gaze to the empath. "What is it?"

"Ego," Mantis whispers quietly, the word coming out like a curse and a warning at the same time. She swallows before continuing. "As a Celestial, Ego had the power to create and destroy matter. He could…" she pauses, searching for the right words for a second. "Manipulate reality to better suit his interests. Being Ego's child, some of that same power existed in Peter; Ego just helped awaken it."

She looks around at all of them, expression troubled. "Peter is very powerful already; I have never seen one of Ego's children use his power as easily or as effectively. He is the only one I have seen who was really able to control it." She shrugs one shoulder loosely as she speaks. "He was still able to channel it for a while even after Ego was destroyed. I could feel it from him even if he didn't realize it was still there at first."

Her attention shifts to where Yondu is standing. "If he was able to channel even a fraction of the power Ego had, it might have been enough to alter some aspects of reality."

"Like the reality in which Yondu died," Rocket concludes from the front of the ship. He shakes his head a little as he thinks this over. "You really think Quill is powerful enough to bring someone back from the dead?"

Mantis offers another small shrug. "I do. At least, he used to be that powerful. Ego's power has waned now but right after he was destroyed, Peter maintained a significant portion of it. He might not have been able to control it as well without Ego's influence but it was there." She glances over at the former Ravager Captain again. "He might have been using it without knowing it."

A heavy silence falls over the company for a moment as they all work out Mantis' words. It's an unusual theory, to be sure, but it's no stranger than having a formerly dead man standing on their flight deck either.

Gamora thinks back to the conversation she had with Peter a few weeks before, after he and Drax had returned from a botched mission. Peter had channeled whatever residual power he still had during a mission and used to nearly kill a group of ex-Ravagers that confronted them planetside. It had been an impressive yet terrifying display, one that troubled all of them.

She remembered talking to him after they returned and listening as he told her about the random spurts of power he still experienced in the months after Ego's destruction. He told her that he tried to use it at first, more than likely for the express purpose of trying to bring Yondu back, but was never able to control it. At least he didn't think he had. Apparently, though, he was able to use it a lot more effectively than he thought because Yondu was standing on their ship, gruff and surly as ever but very definitely alive.

"How long have you been alive?" Gamora asks, turning her attention away from Mantis and back over to Yondu. It feels like a strange question but, then again, this has been a strange day so she's not too worried about technicalities.

The ex-Ravager thinks for a second and shrugs. "Couple weeks, I guess? Month or so?"

Gamora frowns a little; the timeline matches up with the one Peter had described to her.

"At least a month," Kraglin chimes in from the back. "We picked up that job outside Holub right after I picked ya up so it's been at least a month."

"So you've been alive for _at least a month_ and you didn't tell anyone?!" Rocket demands, suddenly furious at the implication. "We mourned for you, ya big jackass! Quill was a wreck for weeks! And you never thought to pop up and at least send a message sayin' 'hey, not dead, have a good life'?!"

"Oh, blow me, rat," Yondu growls, shooting a sharp glare at Rocket. "Ya ever stop to think that maybe me bein' alive again ain't such a good thing? I got more bounties on my head than there are bolts in this ship and more than enough people lookin' to cash in on 'em. If I came back from the dead and announced it to the whole universe like yer implyin' then I'd been right back in the same position I was in before. For a lot'a people, the universe is a better place without me in it and keepin' myself dead in their books is the best thing for everyone."

"Not for Quill," Drax intones somberly.

Gamora nods once in agreement. "I don't think you realize how hard Peter took your death. He blamed himself for it." She crossed her arms again and leans against the front consol. "If anyone deserves to know you're still alive it's Peter."  
For a brief moment, Yondu looks like he's tamping down the desire to go off on all of them. There's a muscle twitching near his left eye that makes him look like he's squinting. "Quill knows."

That causes another stunned silence in the cabin of the ship. Whatever answer they had been expecting, it wasn't this.

"I ran into him a few weeks back," Yondu continues, tone clipped and evasive in the wake of the other Guardian's accusations. "He was conducting some job on this little outpost planet in the Craeger Quadrant. Idiot nearly got himself shot before I stepped in."

Gamora frowns again. She remembers that mission; Peter had wanted to take it alone to give himself a couple days to deal with everything. She didn't want him to go alone, none of them did, but he insisted he would be fine and told them that if he hadn't reported back at the end of the week to come looking. He returned before then, earlier than expected, but none the worse for wear. He didn't seem any different though, nothing that would indicate he'd had a run in with his undead/resurrected/very much alive former Captain.

"He never said anything," she says quietly and she's not sure if she's speaking to the group or to herself.

"Cause I told 'im not to, girl," Yondu retorts shortly. "Like I said, the fewer people who know I'm still around, the better. Quill knows I'm alive, let's leave it at that."

He regards them with narrowed crimson eyes and the suggestion of a sneer. "Now that we've gotten all that outta the way, one'a you wanna tell me what happened to my boy?"

All eyes turn back to Rocket as they suddenly remember the cryptic conversation he'd had with Cud before the ran into Yondu and Kraglin. He sighs and drops down to rest his forearms on his legs. "Quill's in trouble guys," he says simply, the words heavy and grim as he speaks them.

"Figured that part out already," Yondu mutters.

"Yeah, that was, like, the Ravager's unofficial motto for about ten years," Kraglin says in agreement.

Rocket shakes his head. "No, I mean _real_ trouble. If Reeper does have him-"

"Hold on," Gamora says, holding up one hand to stop him. "Who is Reeper?"

The other Guardian suppresses a shudder but not completely. "Let's just say that Reeper is the kind of guy the Kree tell their kids about to get them to behave. You want an effective boogeyman? Just drop Reeper's name."

He scrubs one paw over his face before continuing. "The thing you guys need to understand is that before me an' Groot teamed up with you we were workin' some hard, ugly jobs in some of the shadiest parts of the galaxy. That's how we met Cud, how we started to make a name for ourselves. Some of the people we did business with were called 'suppliers' or 'providers' which is basically it's a sugar-coated term for trafficking. Most of it was pretty run of the mill stuff: weapons, illegal substances, bio-organisms sometimes…"

He shakes his head slightly at the memory. "But there was one subsection we ran across a couple of time that was worse, the kind of trader that would make even the dirtiest jobs seem tame. These guys dealt in parts, body parts to be more specific. There's a market out there for it, gruesome as it may be, an' that's who these guys catered to. Blood, bones, skin; basically anything that could be repurposed and sold to an eager buyer was fair game in their books."

"I heard about Reeper in passing a couple times during those jobs; the guy practically invented the parts trade. Never met him in person but knew enough about him in the end to know I never _wanted_ to meet him if I could avoid it."

He shudders again. "I don't know how much of this is true and how much of it is gossip but apparently he likes to keep some of the parts for himself. He'll keep one or two pieces here and there and add it to his own body. It's how he's been able to keep doing it for so long; when one part begins to die, he just replaces it with another."

A heavy silence fills the ship again for a few seconds before anyone dares to speak again. "An' you think this thing somehow got ahold of Peter?" Yondu says finally, voice icy and flat like a tundra.

Rocket nods. "Like I said, I've never seen Reeper in person but Cud has and he was sure of it. The figure he saw in that footage he unfolded for us?" he says, looking at his other teammates warily. "He's certain of it. And if Reeper got his hands on Quill then this is very, _very_ bad."

"So you're saying this creature wants to kill Quill and sell his body parts on an intergalactic black market?" Drax growls dangerously.

"Not 'want to'," Rocket counters grimly. "Will. If he has Quill, he _will_ kill him before it's over."

Gamora shakes her head so hard her hair bounces. "No," she says simply like that tiny word will be enough to prevent the inevitable. "Not happening. We need to find Peter, _now_."

"I agree but we have no idea where to even start looking. He could be a mile away or a billion miles away."

"So what are we supposed to do then? Just give up and write Peter off as a loss?"

"I didn't say that."

"I am Groot."

"Perhaps we could request help from Xandar."

"That would take too long. Quill's been missing for two days already and it would take another week before we got the approval of the Xandarian council."

"Well then what do you suggest?"

"I don't know, I can't think with all of you yappin' at the same time!"

"Knock it off!" Yondu bellows suddenly, effectively cutting off the bickering taking place on the bridge of the ship. "This ain't gettin' us anywhere and it certainly ain't helpin' us find Quill." He grumbles something beneath his breath and shoots a look at Kraglin. "You still got that tracker?"

The other Ravager looks confused for a split second before nodding in realization. "Yeah," he says, digging around through the various pockets lining the inside of his coat and down the legs of his pants. "Ya think it'll still work after all this time?"

The former Captain shrugs. "Can't hurt to try."

"What's going on?" Gamora asks, watching carefully as Kraglin pulls a short, rectangular object out of one of the pockets in his coat and passes it to Yondu.

The blue-skinned man ignores her for a second, taking the offered device and tinkering with it for a moment. It lights up after a second, a low, chattering sound like static filling the void. He plugs in a few coordinates and commands into the panel toward the bottom of the device and waits for it to register. "We took these from a prison compound in Sinha. All the prisoners were microchipped and the guards used these to keep track of 'em."

"So how is that supposed to help?" Rocket asks, quirking an eyebrow. "Wouldn't that only work if Quill was chipped?"

Yondu levels him with a flat stare. "What makes you think he isn't?"

"Wait, _seriously_?!"

The former Captain ignores the incredulous outburst and looks back at the tracker in his hands. "Kid tried to run away when he was nine," he explains in the same disinterested tone of voice of someone discussing tax benefits and not the microchipping of a child. "He's been chipped ever since."

"That...raises so many ethical questions…"

Kraglin smirks and shakes his head. "We're Ravagers, y'all, ethical considerations were never really a high point of discussion."

"Nope," Yondu agrees with a short nod. "The only problem with the chip is that it doesn't always get picked up by the receiver. It's good about half the time, if we're lucky-"

"Which we usually aren't," Kraglin interjects grimly, meeting a glare from his former Captain.

"Point is, if Quill's anywhere within a 500 mile radius, this should be able to lock onto his-"

There's a very soft blip that emanates from the screen and everyone in the cabin freezes. It earns a very small, wry smirk from Yondu. "Well I'll be damned…"

"Is that-?" Gamora starts but she doesn't trust herself to complete the sentence.

The blue-skinned man nods. "It's picked something up," he mutters, peering at the screen carefully like he's trying to analyze the location. "Looks like it's comin' from a star system not too far from here." He walks over and passes the tracker to Rocket. "Think ya can get us there?"  
The Guardian stares at the screen for a moment before logging the information into the ship's system. It immediately pulls up a screen cluttered with distance, direction, and proximity. "Looks like we'll have to make a couple jumps and cut through the center of an asteroid belt but yeah, shouldn't be a problem."

Gamora smiles faintly; it's the first time she's felt even marginally hopeful since Peter's disappearance. "Alright," she says as Rocket finalizes the plotted course in the flight system. "Let's go find Peter."

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 **Thanks for reading guys! More to come soon! :D**


	7. Clerke

**Hello everyone! Hope you're doing well! Not much happens in this chapter but the next one will be a lot more exciting, I promise! Fun fact: the planet in this chapter was named after Sir Clement Clerke, one of the literal movers and shakers of the Industrial Revolution. Knowledge is power! :D**

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"Uh...are we sure this is the right place?" Rocket asks dubiously, staring at the iron-grey, lifeless surface of the planet before them. Okay, so it's not technically a planet; it's more of a satellite really, large enough to be considered a celestial body but smaller than an actual planet, dwarf or otherwise. It's called Clerke according to the information displayed on their ship and it looks like it's been abandoned for years.

The landscape is dotted with large, sprawling structures that spread out across the surface like clumps of weeds. They're factories, long abandoned and crumbling in disuse; apparently Clerke used to be a hub for heavy industry before the satellite was deserted for a more stable planetary body. The inhabitants left and the buildings remained, leaving the micro planet floating alone and empty, filled with thousands of ghost towns.

Yondu snatches the tracker from the consol and stares at the read out again. He frowns, looks down at the planet below them, and looks back at the screen. "We're in the right place," he says simply, crimson eyes locked on the tiny, flashing blip on the screen. "Quill's down there somewhere."

Gamora glances from the former Ravager Captain to the cold, grey planet in front of them. She wishes she had Yondu's level of conviction but it's difficult to convince herself that they're in the right place when everything looks so derelict. A tiny, niggling voice in her head keeps wondering if the tracker actually did send them to the right place or if it had malfunctioned and sent them somewhere else entirely. Hell, for all they knew Clerke might have been where the microchips for that particular tracking device were made and it was registering trace elements of that and leading them on a wild goose chase. She worries that Peter might not even be here, that he might be somewhere else, hurt, dying, being tortured, and they're not even close to finding him.

She swallows back all of this and forces herself to maintain her composure. Anxiety will get them nowhere and she needs a clear head if they hope to find Peter. "Let's go," she says, making her way toward the ramp at the the back of the ship.

"Gamora, wait," Rocket calls after her, glancing back over his shoulder. "Landing on this planet ain't gonna be easy. To be honest I don't think we can land at all. The magnetic fields are unstable and any sudden change in flux could short circuit our whole ship." He looks about as unhappy with the news as Gamora does.

"So then how are we supposed to get down there?" she demands, the question coming out sharper and more desperate than she really meant for it to.

Rocket thinks for a moment before answering. "I can get you close to the planet's surface and drop a landing party; that should keep the magnetic fields at least somewhat stable." He shrugs one shoulder a bit helplessly. "It's not ideal, I know, but it's probably the only way to keep the ship from becoming a glorified paperweight.

"Good enough for me," Gamora tells him with a short nod. She turns her attention to Yondu and nods to the tracking device in his hand. "Any chance that thing can give us a better idea of where Peter is?"

The ex-Ravager nods but he's not looking at her, he's looking at the device in his hand. He frowns at it and adjusts something on the panel at the bottom. "Once we get planetside it should put us within a mile of his location."

"That's good 'cause the quicker you find Quill and get him back the ship the better off we'll be," Rocket says, scrutinizing the readouts on the ship's system. "Keeping the ship off the planet's surface should keep the magnetic fields intact but I can't promise anything; one wrong move could cause a massive EMP and then we're really screwed."

He turns back to face the rest of the group. "Now we gotta talk about the landing party. The more people who go down there, the harder it's gonna be for me to get all of you back. One or two shouldn't be a problem but any more than that and it starts to get complicated."

Yondu and Gamora exchange a look that wordlessly yet clearly states they're both going. Drax steps forward from his place in the back and comes to a stop beside Gamora. "I'm going as well."

Rocket nods like he had expected as much. "Alright, that means Kraglin and Mantis are stayin' on the ship with me."

"I am Groot!"

"Yeah, Groot too," he amends in the face of the tiny tree creature's exclamation. "We'll keep the ship as stable as we can but you guys need to be ready to go the second you find Quill, got it?"

There are three distinct nods and that's all it takes for the Milano to begin it's careful descent toward Clerke. The ship manages to get within thirty feet of the planet's surface before its systems begins to flicker and sputter and malfunction. It's a clear warning, _that's close enough_ , and they take it seriously. Rocket stabilizes the ship just long enough for the designated landing party to exit out the back before pulling back up into the atmosphere to a safer distance.

The air is breathable but it smells like rust and corroded metal, probably thanks to the abandoned factories sprawled out everywhere. The remnants of the buildings tower over them like concrete giants, crumbling and deteriorating from years of disuse. A hot, dry wind kicks up an impressive amount of dirt in the street and several small dust devils are formed in response.

In spite of the apparent emptiness of the factories around them, they make their way down the street between the buildings quietly and carefully. They're looking for Peter, yes, but that means they're also looking for Reeper and none of them are quite sure what to expect from him. If he's anything like how Rocket described, they need to be ready for anything.

"Where are we going?" Gamora asks finally, her voice barely above a whisper as she glances over Yondu.

He doesn't answer at first, attention focused on the tracker in his hand. "Building at the end'a this block, looks like," he tells her after a second, indicating a long, single-story compound a couple hundred yards away. The structure itself is dull and unimpressive, dust-colored bricks and dust-covered windows. Still, if that's where the tracking device indicated where Peter was, that's where they were heading.

Wordlessly, Gamora breaks into a jog, listening carefully as she runs for any indication of ambush or attack. Drax and Yondu join her and they manage to clear the distance to the building quickly without any interference.

The entrance is covered by heavy metal door that looks like everything else on Clerke: rusted, decayed, forgotten. It's not locked though which is both unusual and promising for their own purposes. The less resistance the better and Gamora pushes the doors open easily, stepping into the dusty darkness of the compound.

There's an almost imperceptible shudder through the atmosphere and the air smells like static. A split second later there's a loud, deafening pop and Yondu curses sharply, dropping the tracker onto the ground. The screen is shattered and smoke is pouring out of the cracks in thick, white streams. The ex-Ravager curses again and kicks the tracker out of the doorway, the metal and plastic components popping and sizzling as it comes in contact with his boot. "Guess the rat was right about the magnetic fields in this place," he mutters, casting a glare at the now useless tracking device.

Gamora frowns and looks back into the darkness of the building. There are rows of bright, flickering lights stretched out across the ceiling but they really don't provide enough light to fill the darkened hallways. She doesn't hear anything from inside and there's no indication that anyone has been in here in years but she's undeterred. She's operating on faith alone at this point; faith that Yondu's tracker is correct and faith that Peter is in the building somewhere. Mostly she's trying to maintain the faith that he's still alive and they're not too late.

Jaw set, she nods them into the building. "Come on," she says, stepping into the dust-filled darkness. She looks down one hallway and then down the other, frowning when they both look the same: long and dark and empty. "We'll cover more ground if we split up," she says, voice echoing off the high ceilings and long halls. "Look for Peter but keep an eye out for Reeper. He's bound to be around here somewhere."

"I will dispose of him if I find him," Drax promises, his voice a low, threatening rumble in the darkness.

"Join the club," Yondu mutters, scanning the long hallways as they walk further into the building. Gamora says nothing but judging from the clipped tone of his voice and the hard line of his jaw, she can tell he's worried.

"Do whatever you want to Reeper," she tells them as they reach the head of two splitting hallways. "Just focus on finding Peter." Two nods greet her words and then they split up and venture off down opposite hallways.

* * *

 **More to come soon guys! :D**


	8. Showdowns and Rescues

**Hello everyone! Hope you're all doing well! Sorry for the long gap between updates but grad school likes to rear its ugly head every once in a while and remind me of my place in the world (which isn't very high, apparently) Anyway, hope you all enjoy it! :D**

* * *

Reeper curses in a short, bitter hiss. There are intruders in the building, he can hear them, and they're going to ruin all of his hard work if they stay. There are at least two, possibly three, and in spite of their quiet, cautious movements, he can hear them making their way through the building clearly. It won't be long before one of them stumbles across his workshop and he can't have that.

He spares a glance at the limp Terran strapped to the table. He had put up quite the fight during his time here but that fight was gone now, drained out of him like the blood collected in the bags below the table. He hasn't regained consciousness since he was recaptured a few hours earlier and at this point he likely never will. He hasn't been drained completely, not yet, but it won't be long before his organs begin to fail and his body irreversibly shuts down.

It's a shame, really, that Reeper doesn't have more time to spend with him. All the terrible and wonderful things he had planned for him; now cut short because a few intruders were inconsiderate enough to barge into his work space and interrupt his work. He could take the body with him and complete the process elsewhere but it takes too long to find the appropriate location and equipment and the longer it takes to complete the harvest, the more the body decays and the less valuable the pieces become. Fresh is best in this case and he doesn't have time for fresh.

Reeper curses again and comes to the conclusion that he'll have to leave the body behind. The Terran had promised to be an enormous payday all on his own but his Celestial heritage had turned him into a living galactic lottery. Reeper had such great plans for this harvest, so many buyers who would have paid an entire planet's worth of units for even the smallest amount of product, but he knows he won't be able to collect any of that profit if he gets caught in the process.

He grumbles to himself and collects the bags from under the table, tucking them into the transportation unit at his feet. The blood will have to be enough and he'll have to bump up the price since he's leaving before he can collect anything else. He reasons he can price a sample at five hundred thousand and a full vial at a million, at least. Bones would be better, skin would be ideal, but he doesn't have time. His payout has been cut in half but it's better than nothing at all.

"Apologies, my friend," he mumbles to the unconscious Terran as he finishes collecting all the necessary supplies. "I had such great plans for you. It appears our time has been cut short though. Alas, I am forced to leave your body whole. Such a shame."

He doubts the Terran can even hear him; he's comatose at this point and death won't be far behind. A hour, maybe? It's a generous estimate but the Terran had proven stronger than he anticipated so he has no doubt his failing body might struggle to hang on for a disturbingly long time. Once again, it's a shame; he would have loved to see how long he'd last under the usual circumstances.

He doesn't bother removing the straps or the lines feeding out of either arm; the Terran will be dead soon enough anyway so there's no point in doing anything else with the body. He'll leave him here to slowly deteriorate and decompose like everything else on this dusty, abandoned planet. It's grimly poetic in a way and Reeper snickers to himself as he gathers the transportation unit, tucking it under the ruined stump of his arm.

Losing his other hand had been annoying and he figures he'll have to replace it within a few days if he wants to get back to work. He briefly considers taking one of the Terran's arms but decides against it; Terran biology was so fragile and the transfer likely wouldn't take and he'd be left with a useless, rotting appendage. He sighs and readjusts his grip as the container begins to slip.

"I thank you for your generous donation, my friend," he tells the dying Terran as he steps out of the room and swings the door shut behind him. He turns left down the long hall and skulks his way down the corridor toward the exit. His ship is outside waiting and his first buyer is three systems over so he needs to get moving if he wants to make the sale.

He makes his way down the hall, listening carefully for any sign that the intruders are getting closer. He can still hear them moving around, opening doors and checking rooms. Perhaps they're looking for scrap metal or spare parts and decided this building was the place to look. It doesn't matter to him; Reeper is still deeply irked at their interference in his work. He keeps the transportation unit tucked against his side as he moves, the contents shifting slightly with each step.

He turns the corner that leads to the exit stumbles to a stop. There's someone standing at the end of the hall, a tall, imposing figure with grey skin and sprawling tattoos. The intruder is closer to the exit than he is and might try to intervene before he can reach the door. There's no way of knowing if he plans on stopping him or why he's even here in the first place; the intruder just stands there, staring at him silently.

Reeper takes a step forward and so does the intruder, eyes narrowed in an intense, dangerous glare. He pulls something from the sheaths at his sides, two long, curved blades that glint in the dim light of the hallway. It becomes clear immediately that this man is eager for a fight and Reeper is happy to oblige if it means getting to the exit. He growls, a low, deep sound in the back of his throat and lunges forward just as the tattooed man lets out a bellowing battle cry and rushes at him, blades in hand.

 **OOOOO**

Gamora walks quickly down the hallway, passing from one circle of light to another. The corridor stretches out at least a quarter of a mile in one direction, straight as an arrow and dotted with doors at random, interspersed intervals. She pauses to check each of them, pushing them open if they're unlocked and breaking down the door if they're not. So far each of them have turned up empty and the ball of anxiety in her stomach is growing larger with each passing step.

The hallways frame the inside of the building, cutting through the structure in a giant circle with a large, central atrium in the center. The rooms on either side of the hallway might have been for storage or assembly but they're empty now. Gamora kicks open another door out of frustration, clenching one fist at her side when it swings open to reveal yet another empty room.

This is hopeless. They're no closer to finding Peter and at this rate they'll be here for hours searching every room. In all that time Peter could be dying or already dead. She shakes the thought out of her head and keeps moving forward, pushing open doors as she comes across them.

A noise echoes through the building, far away down one of the other hallways. Gamora freezes and listens, trying to determine where it's coming from. It sounds like it's on the opposite side of the building, likely toward the back, and it sounds like a battle cry. She frowns, eyes widening suddenly, and takes off in a run. She recognizes that sound; she's heard it literally every time they've engaged in combat for the past several months.

"Drax!" she shouts, the call tearing out of her before she can stop it. She sprints down the hall in the direction of the sound, listening carefully as it seems to get closer. It echoes all over the building though so it's hard to pinpoint the exact location.

She rounds the nearest corner and nearly collides with Yondu, stopping herself just short of slamming into him at a full sprint. The ex-Ravager curses in surprise and shoots her an annoyed glare. "Ya find 'im?" he asks, voice clipped in the relative silence of the hall.

Gamora isn't sure which 'him' he's referring to at that exact moment; it could Peter or Drax. Since she hasn't had luck locating either of them, she settles with a simple, "no."

That earns her another grumbled curse and Yondu nods down the hall. "Come on, then," he tells her before breaking into a run again. Gamora follows him, lengthening her strides to clear as much distance as possible. The hall seems to stretch on endlessly in front of them, a long, dark corridor broken into patchy circles of light. The sounds of a struggle seem to be getting closer but once again it's difficult to tell.

Another bend in the hallway appears up ahead and there's a loud crash like something being slammed into the wall. It's hard enough that it causes dust and tiny pieces of rubble to shower down from above, creating a grey haze in the hall briefly. Gamora pauses briefly to shield her eyes and sidestep a larger chunk of rubble that tumbles loose in front of her. She coughs as the dust gets a thicker and moves to one side of the hall where the air quality is a bit clearer. She hears Yondu continue on ahead of her but she loses sight of him in the dusty haze.

She's about to take off again when she stops herself. She's not sure why but something causes her to pause and look around the hall again. It doesn't look any different from before but still, there's something that draws her attention. She frowns and walks forward a few steps, scanning the hall carefully as she does for any kind of threat.

The fight is still going on further down the hall; she can hear it but she tunes it out as best she can and focuses on where she is at the moment. She concentrates on the feeling of...whatever it is that's holding her there. It's like crossing a magnet with static electricity, a dull buzzing sensation taking up residence in her fingertips and the palms of her hands.

She looks up at the ceiling briefly, wondering if the planet's electromagnetic currents are to blame, but shakes away the thought. This is something different; she doesn't know how she knows, she just does. So she allows it to lead her a few steps further down the hall, through the dusty haze and patches of light.

There's a door a few steps ahead, no different than the hundreds of others they'd passed running down these halls. But she feels drawn to this one, or at least that buzzy, staticky feeling does. She walks toward it, reaching out toward the handle only when the feeling in her hands becomes too intense to ignore.

She grips the handle and pushes the door open and finds Peter strapped to a table.

 **OOOOO**

Drax slams into the wall with enough force to shatter the stone foundation. The walls shake, the ceilings shudder, and a heavy rain of dust and debris tumbles down from above. He lands heavily on the ground with a grimace and a glare and pushes himself up with one fist.

The creature before him, the one he assumes is Reeper, is watching him with sharp, darting eyes. He was much faster and stronger than Drax had given him credit for. Within seconds of encountering one another in the hallway, Reeper struck first, swiping out at his opponent with one powerful arm. Drax had been taken by surprise, not anticipating the sheer strength and speed with which he moved. He found himself batted to the side like nothing more than an annoying insect.

The Guardian glares at him as he stands, facing Reeper head on. He's terrifying to look at and it seems to get worse the longer he stands there. His body is an incoherent accumulation of parts, mismatched and incompatible. He's missing a hand, the stump at the end of his arm charred and ragged like he'd lost it in some kind of explosion. He's plenty capable without it though, channeling all his strength into the one usable limb he has. Drax hadn't understood what Rocket meant earlier when he was describing the true horribleness of Reeper but he did now; everything about him was just _wrong._

Reeper snarls at him, a strange hissing sound crossed with a growl. "You are in my way," he informs the tattooed Guardian. He's gripping something under the stump of his destroyed arm, some kind of case that looks like a cross between a dufflebag and a portable chest.

"You took my friend," Drax counters icily, regaining his grip on his daggers. "Tell me where he is and I will promise you a painful but quick death."

"Move out of my way or I will promise you less than that," Reeper retorts with another growl, gaze shifting between the man in front of him and the clear exit he's blocking.

They regard each other for a tense, silent moment, neither moving as they size each other up. Then, with a quick burst of speed, Drax surges forward with a bellowing cry and slashes at Reeper with his blades.

The confrontation is fierce and brutal, each slashing and swiping at each other with terrifying intensity. Reeper manages to rake a deep set of gouges across Drax's chest but Drax takes out a chunk of his leg with one of his blades. The floor and walls quickly become splashed with blood and gore but neither of them are prepared to stop.

It becomes clear early on that Reeper is trying to get to the exit and Drax is now hellbent on preventing that. He blocks the exit as much as he can, attacking brutally when Reeper gets too close. He's not letting him go until he tells him where Peter is or he's dead; honestly Drax isn't picky about the outcome at this point.

Reeper snarls in frustration and lashes out again but Drax is ready for it this time and he sidesteps easily, slashing down with one quick, precise blow and severing the other hand at the wrist. The containment unit goes flying, sailing across the hall and crashing on the floor. It cracks on one side and something slaps out onto the floor, splashing the ground red.

Reeper lets out a furious shriek, both from pain and anger, and scrambles to retrieve the remaining contents of the container. He snatches the bag under one arm, bloody stump gushing as he goes, and then makes a powerful charge at Drax. It's much faster than before, unusual because of the resultant blood loss, but he slams his shoulder into the tattooed Guardian hard enough to knock him backwards and away from the exit.

Another bag tumbles out of the container and catches the edge of Drax's blade, splitting it open and splattering him with the contents. The shock of it is enough to cause the tattooed Guardian to pause for a split second, looking down at his bare chest in confusion. Whatever was in those bags and whatever he was subsequently covered in looks remarkably like blood.

By the time he regains his composure it's too late; Reeper has skirted past him and made it to the exit, scrambling down the partially collapsed hallway and into the darkness. Drax starts to chase after him but a low, rumbling groan fills the hall and the rest of the ceiling collapses in front of him, effectively blocking off the escape route.

Drax curses and sheathes his blade, furious with himself for letting that monster go. Not only did Reeper escape, he didn't tell him where Peter was and that was infinitely worse. He's failed and Peter is still missing…

 **OOOOO**

"I found him!" Gamora shouts to no one in particular, sprinting into the room and coming to a stop at Peter's side. Her breath catches in her throat.

"Oh my God, Peter…" she hears herself say, eyes raking over his pale, limp form in horror. Her hands hover against his shoulders, his face; she wants to touch him and yet she's almost afraid to. "Peter, can you hear me? Peter?!" His skin is a sickening grey and for a brief, terrible moment she thinks they're too late.

She reaches out and presses her fingers to his throat, heart seized in her chest as she desperately searches for a pulse. For a moment she feels nothing but the coolness of his skin.

"No," she says, moving her fingers again and getting the same result. "No, no, no. You do not get to do this to me, Peter Quill," she growls, voice tingeing on hysterical. Her fingers are shaking and she pulls them away, shaking them hard once before pressing them back to Peter's throat.

She feels something then, a quick, shallow thump beneath her fingertips. It's much too fast, a sure indication of shock, but for the moment she's so relieved that he's still alive she doesn't care. She leans over him, listening carefully to the rapid, faltering rhythm of his breathing and frowns deeply. He was fading fast and they needed to get him out of here.

Gamora grabs a handful of the nearest strap and rips it off the table, slinging it across the room in silent fury. She's careful of the lines still feeding into Peter's arms, the needles pushed deep into his veins. She debates leaving them there for about a second before carefully sliding them out and dropping them to the floor. Blood swells to the surface and she clamps her hand over it tightly, feeling the muscles in her jaws clench. If Reeper wasn't dead already she was going to rip him apart with her bare hands…

There's a noise behind her and she whips around instantly, keeping herself positioned between Peter and the door as much as she can. She relaxes only slightly when she sees that it's Yondu but the look on his face is enough to keep her wariness up. The expression is a vivid mixture of rage and disbelief and the murderous look in his eyes matches her own.

"What the hell did that bastard do to 'im?" he growls as he comes to a stop on the other side of the table. One hand comes to rest over Peter's heart and the other reaches out to briefly cup his face, the fingers hesitant and unsure like he's afraid of what he might find. It's a strangely tender gesture from someone who had a kill list the size of a novel.

"We need to get him back to the ship," Gamora says simply as she rips another strap off the table. She can feel Peter's blood on her hands and the anger that settles in her chest is cold and hollow. "Help me with these."

For a moment Yondu doesn't move, he just stands there frozen, attention locked on Peter's limp form.

"Yondu!" Gamora says loudly, her voice effectively snapping him back to attention. "Help me with these."

The ex-Ravager nods once and slips a blade out of his boot, slicing through the straps looped across Peter effortlessly. He drops them over the side of the table, scowling at them in disgust. "Where's the big guy?" he asks as he slices through another set of straps around Peter's waist.

Gamora shakes her head. "Not sure, down the hall I think. We need to find him before-"

"Mother fucker," Yondu snarls, pausing at the last set of straps holding down Peter's legs. One ankle is bent at an unnatural angle, jagged points of bone pushing up through the skin. It's a gruesome injury, one intended to cripple, and Yondu's voice is a low, terrible growl when he speaks again. "I'm gonna kill that piece of-"

"Reeper escaped," a deep voice informs them from the door and Drax steps into the room a second later. "I attempted to stop him but-" his words fade off as he finally catches sight of Peter, his expression going blank in shock. "Quill…" he breathes, voice muddled in disbelief and anguish.

"He's alive," Gamora tells him quickly, seeing the stricken expression on the tattooed Guardian's face. "Barely. We need to get back to the ship." She looks Drax up and down as she speaks, frowning when she comes to another upsetting realization. "You're bleeding."

The other Guardian looks down at himself, noticing the dark splash of blood covering his torso and pants. He looks like something out of nightmare, his grey skin garish and tacky with blood. "It's not mine," he tells her cryptically, expression grim. He looks at Peter again, mouth drawing in a tight line. "I think it's Quill's."

Yondu's crimson eyes narrow dangerously. "That son of a bitch," the former Ravager mutters venomously and Gamora could not agree with that sentiment more but they didn't have time to focus on anger and indignation at the moment.

"Drax," she says, nodding him over toward the table. The other Guardian nods wordlessly, understanding her gesture, and steps up to the table. He scoops Peter into his arms easily, cradling him against his chest like a child. Peter's head lolls back against his arm, his body limp and heavy. It's disturbing for a number of reasons but mostly because Peter has never been laid low like this. Every fight or battle, every blow, he always bounces back up. He's not bouncing back up now though; in fact, if they hadn't known better it would have been easy to mistake his limpness for death.

"Come on," Gamora says, pulling her communicator out of her pocket (which amazingly hadn't been fried by the planet's electromagnetic fields) and sending a message to Rocket. She spares one last glance at the table before looking back at Peter. "Let's get the hell out of here."

"Careful with 'im," Yondu warns as they start walking, splitting his attention between watching Drax and watching Peter's face carefully for any sign of consciousness. The tattooed warrior shoots him a look that wordlessly yet clearly says "duh" and keeps walking.

The Milano is hovering about thirty feet above the ground by the time they reach the front of the building, the cargo doors open with Kraglin and Mantis standing on the ramp. Their expressions turn grim when they see the rest of their team emerge, Peter pale and ragdoll limp in Drax's arms. Kraglin regains his composure quickly but Mantis still looks distressed by the time the ship maneuvers into position. They can't touch down for too long so the pickup is going to have to be short and quick.

The second the ship reaches the ground, Drax takes off running, Gamora and Yondu right behind him. They barely clear the ramp before the air around the ship begins to crackle and snap with electricity. Everything smells like ozone and the onboard sensors on the Milano are going crazy thanks to the sharp flux in electricity. The minute everyone is back onboard, the cargo doors close and the ship pulls away from the planet's surface, shuddering and wobbling as it struggles to break free from Clerke's magnetic fields. It's a rough couple of minutes but eventually they clear the atmosphere and leave the dusty, abandoned planet behind.

* * *

 **Don't worry, Reeper will get his in the end! More to come soon guys! :D**


	9. Time for a roadtrip

**Hey guys! Sorry for the short chapter but I'll hopefully get a longer one up this weekend! Hope you all enjoy! :D**

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"Is he alright?"

"What the hell happened?!"

"Did you find Reeper?"

"I am Groot!"

"Careful! Don't drop 'im, ya big idiot!"

"I was not going to drop him!"

"Enough!" Rocket snaps, the single word filling the entire cabin. "Knock it off, all of you! And back off!" He shoots a look at Drax and nods him forward. "Bring 'im over here."

Drax nods once and walks across cabin wordlessly, Peter still cradled in his arms. He finds the nearest bunk and lowers him onto it carefully, mindful of the broken bones in his ankle. Peter remains much too still and much too quiet and it makes the room around him seem much too big. It's deeply disturbing and a short growl from Rocket and a sharp whistle from Yondu are the only things that keep everyone else from rushing the bed.

"Now," Rocket says, his eyes drifting from one person to the next. "One at a time, tell us what happened."

Gamora takes the opportunity to speak first. "It was Reeper," she says simply, confirming any lingering fears/doubts. "We didn't see him but Drax did."

The tattooed Guardian nods, his gaze fixed on Peter's motionless form. "We fought in the hallway," he says without looking away. "I cut off his hand." Normally a statement like that would have been delivered with a sense of pride and accomplishment but now it just comes across as distracted.

"Did ya kill 'im?" Kraglin asks, the question coming out with a sharp, biting edge.

Drax shakes his head once. "He escaped before I could."

The former Ravager mutters an ugly curse under his breath, his jaw set tightly.

"No surprise there," Rocket mumbles in Drax's defense. He digs a small scanner out of his pocket and fumbles with the switches as he speaks. "Reeper's never been caught for long and those who do catch him usually end up dead or missing a couple limbs." He adjusts a few more dials and whacks it once with his paw and the screen flickers to life.

"What is that?" Gamora asks, frowning at the device Rocket is holding.

"Med scanner I've been workin' on," he tells her simply with a small shrug. "Figured we'd eventually need somethin' portable in our line of work so I've been messin' around with a prototype for a couple weeks now."

He levels the scanner at Peter and punches in a few commands. There's a soft whirring sound like a tiny motor spinning and after a second the screen flickers again with its findings. It makes Rocket's stomach drop. He frowns at the screen, plugs in the commands again, and re-scans the unconscious Guardian. The scanner's screen flickers again and produces the same results.

Rocket curses and shakes his head in disbelief. "There's no freakin' way…" he mumbles, staring at the screen to make sure he's reading it right.

"What?" Yondu (or maybe Kraglin?) demands.

He shakes his head again and tinkers with the scanner one more time, getting the same results over and over. "Shit," he mutters, passing the scanner to the nearest person (Drax) and rushing back to the front of the ship.

"What? What's wrong?" someone yells from behind him but Rocket ignores them.

He comes to a stop in front of one of the storage lockers and jerks the door open, dragging out their meager medical kit. It was woefully depleted and lacked any kind of major medical supplies that would be useful at the moment.

Rocket curses himself for not restocking the last time they were on Xandar; the thought had crossed his mind and just as quickly disappeared in favor of weapons parts. At the time he'd reasoned they could do without them; Drax and Gamora hardly ever needed medical attention and with his enhancements and Groot literally being a tree, neither of them really needed it either. Peter was the only one among their little ragtag group who might ever need legitimate medical care but luckily he'd never needed more than a few dermal patches and a couple stitches.

Until now.

Rocket curses again, grabs an epinephrine patch from the kit, and runs back to bed Peter was occupying. He rips open the package with his teeth and slaps the patch onto Peter's shoulder, suppressing a shudder at the coolness of his skin.

"What the hell is going on?"

Rocket sighs and scrubs his paws across his eyes. "What's going on is that we need to get Quill to a hospital ASAP. If that med scanner is accurate," he says, gesturing toward the device in Drax's hand. "Quill ain't gonna last much longer. He needs blood, a lot of it, and we don't exactly have a surplus on the ship. That epi patch should keep 'im going for a little while but it ain't gonna be enough."

Drax holds out one arm in response. "He can have my blood."

"Mine too," Mantis pipes up from the back of the group.

"I am Groot!"

"No, no, no," Yondu says, shaking his head slowly. He steps forward, eyes locked on Peter and expression grim. "It don't work like that. Terran biology is weird; they have specific blood types and if ya try shootin' 'em up with somethin' that don't match you'll end up killin' 'em. Not only that, he needs _human_ blood, not-" he fades off that the end, gesturing vaguely toward Drax, Mantis, and Groot. "Well, yours."

"Well, we can't just leave him like this," Gamora protests furtively. "There must be something we can do for him."

"There is," the former Ravager captain says, grabbing a handful of the blanket that had been kicked to the end of the mattress and tugging it over Peter. "Keep 'im warm, keep 'im breathin', keep 'im alive." He gives them all a hard, unmistakable look. "There is no alternative. Got it?"

A series of nods follow his words, silent agreement spreading throughout the ship. They had just gotten Peter back; there was no way they were losing him now.

Rocket turns and begins walking back toward the front of the ship. "Xandar's gonna be the best place to go for somethin' like this but we need to make a pitstop at Knowhere first."

"Why Knowhere?" Kraglin asks, frowning in confusion.

"That's the closest place I can think of to get universal plasma," Rocket tells him as he slides into the pilot's seat and plugs in the coordinates. He's sitting in Peter's chair and as much as they bicker and argue over who the better pilot is, he really hates that he has to be the one in the chair now. "It ain't blood but it's gonna help Quill a whole lot more than that epi patch will."

He glances back over his shoulder, eyes landing on the unconscious form of his fellow Guardian. His jaw sets a bit more tightly and his ears flatten a little against his head. "Just make sure he stays alive until we get there."

* * *

 **More to come soon! :D**


	10. Universal Plasma

**Hey guys! Sorry to the long gap between updates! Real life got in the way for a while and needed to be handled first. Anyway, hope you all enjoy! :D**

* * *

It takes a little over three hours to reach Knowhere, the Celestial's disembodied head appearing in the distance like a macabre beacon. Ships of every size and variety flit in and out of the ports, ranging from small personal crafts to large cargo ships. As usual, the place is filled with workers and beggars, scrappers and sellers. Rocket ignores at least a dozen of them when they step onto the main street. They didn't have time for distractions, not with Peter's life on the line.

In the time it had taken them to reach Knowhere, Peter's condition had worsened. His blood pressure was dangerously low and his pulse had shifted to a rapid, skipping beat. Rocket isn't sure how he's still alive when for all intents and purposes Peter should have been dead hours ago. He chalks it up to Ego's DNA (the one and only time he's ever been thankful for Quill's raging dick of a father) and the fact that Peter is just a stubborn bastard and wouldn't know when to die even if someone told him to. But if Quill is still kicking then they're not giving up on him.

He recruits Drax and Kraglin for the landing party and leaves the others on the ship to keep an eye on Peter. He trusts Yondu and Gamora to keep him alive long enough for them to get back and he's worried Mantis will get conned harder than any of them if she sets foot on Knowhere so he decided it would be best to leave her on the ship as well. The trip won't take long but it helps to have a heavily armed ex-Ravager and a warrior who's just this side of insane on his side to make sure everything goes smoothly.

"So where're we gonna find this universal plasma?" Kraglin asks as they make their way down the street, one hand resting on the gun at his hip at all times.

"There are a couple vendors scattered around," Rocket tells him, ducking past a booth that was selling a wide assortment of Kree weapons. "The market for this stuff really took off once salvagers started mining all the biological resources from this place. Most of the supply sold pretty quick but you can still buy it here if you know where to look."

He spots a small, ramshackle booth tucked in the alley between two buildings, the roof partially collapsed and the storefront dark. "Places like that," Rocket says with a small smirk, nodding them forward.

"You sure?" Kraglin asks as they approach, quirking an eyebrow at the crumbling booth. "Don't look like anybody's home."

"They're home," Rocket assures him, coming to a stop in front of the booth and knocking against the decaying wood with the butt of his gun. There's a shuffle of movement behind the counter and a small, slimy face appears from the shadows.

"What d'ya want?" the vendor snarls, beady eyes flickering between the three visitors standing before him.

"Universal plasma," Rocket tells him simply. "I know you have some."

There's a hissing sound that might be a laugh. "No plasma here. Sold out."

"You're lying," Rocket counters, eyes narrowing slightly. "And I ain't got time for lies. Universal plasma," he says again, holding up a thin disc for the vendor to see. "We'll pay you ten thousand units for it."

Another hissing, snickering laugh meets his proposal and the vendor squirms into view. He looks like a centipede crossed with a gecko, all slimy, grey-mottled skin with way too many legs. His eyes are small and pitch black and they dart restlessly from one face to the next.

"Universal plasma costs more," he tells them, grinning with rows of sharp, grey-tinted teeth. "Fifty thousand for a liter. No less."

Rocket balks. "Fifty thousand?! You're outta your freakin' mind!"

The vendor offers him a slimy smirk. "Fifty thousand or nothing."

Rocket growls low in his throat. "How about ten thousand and my friends here don't rip each and every one of your legs off."

That seems to interest both Drax and Kraglin and they take a menacing step toward the booth. The vendor swallows thickly. "Forty-five thousand."

"Ten."

"Forty."

"Ten."

The vendor hisses venomously. "I'll sell it to you for thirty thousand. Not a unit less."

Rocket growls again. "Ten or your gonna start losing legs."

The vendor snarls and ducks behind the counter like he's trying to make an escape but Drax stops him. More accurately, Drax punches through the wooden booth and catches a handful of the slimy creature, jerking him back through the splintered boards and hoisting him up into the air. Kraglin steps forward calmly and presses his gun to the creature's middle. "Tried to be nice about it," he tells him with a small shrug.

The vendor hisses and spits and squirms but can't break loose. He lets out an enraged growl and sags in Drax's grip. "Fine. Ten thousand."

"See? Not so hard," Rocket says, nodding to Drax. The tattooed Guardian drops him with a huff, clearly disappointed that he didn't get to uphold the promise of leg removal.

The vendor hisses at him before slinking back into the booth and digging through a number of hidden compartments. After a few seconds, he reappears with a small, plastic pouch filled with opaque fluid. He growls at them once more before tossing it to Kraglin.

"We'll need two," Rocket tells him, crossing his arms over his chest and leveling him with a glare.

The vendor sneers and bares his sharp grey teeth. "None left. That's the last bag."

"Is it?" Rocket asks dubiously as Drax takes another step forward. They're met with a string of extremely vulgar curses before another bag is miraculously located inside the booth and tossed to them. Kraglin catches the other bag and tucks them both in his jacket carefully.

"Pleasure doin' business with you," Rocket says with a mock salute, receiving another barrage of curses and insults for his efforts. He ignores the irate vendor and turns away, tossing the payment over his shoulder and hearing it bounce across the wooden counter.

"Uh, okay, not that I'm not impressed with your negotiation skills or anythin' but how do we know what we got is legit?" Kraglin asks as they make their way back toward the port. "Like, that guy could've just sold us a bag'a dirty water and now we're ten thousand units out and Quill is screwed."

"I scanned it when we got there," Rocket tells him, stopping at another booth and buying a few other supplies. "That's how I knew he had a stock back there. It's legit, don't worry; that stuff is impossible to replicate or pollute. Universal plasma is some of the purest stuff in...well, the universe which explains why it's so valuable. It should keep Quill goin' long enough for us to reach Xandar." He tucks the rest of the supplies under one arm, hoping his companions didn't notice the way his voice dipped a little bit on the word 'should'.

Groot is waiting for them when they get back to the ship. "I am Groot," the little tree creature scolds impetuously.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Rocket says, rolling his eyes as he scoops the tiny Guardian up onto one shoulder. "It took longer than expected; we had to make a couple threats."

"I am Groot."

"What?! No! I just told the guy Drax would break all his legs if he didn't make the sale."

"Which I didn't get to do," the tattooed Guardian grumbles.

"Next time, big guy," Rocket promises as he passes Groot off to his disappointed friend. "How's Quill holdin' up?"

Groot's expression falls a bit and he frowns. "I am Groot," he says quietly, shaking his little head.

"Not good, huh?" Rocket asks although he had expected as much before he even asked. "Well, don't worry pal, we got some stuff that'll fix 'im up til we get the Xandar."

"I am Groot?"

"Yes, really. Have I ever lied to you before?" Groot opens his mouth and Rocket immediately shakes his head. "Actually, no, don't answer that."

Peter hasn't moved (which is no great surprise) but he looks worse than ever. His skin is alarmingly grey and his fingernails have turned a dusky blue. There are dark, ugly bruises under both eyes, giving him an even more sunken, ghoulish appearance. Overall, Peter is pulling off an uncomfortably good impression of a corpse.

Both Gamora and Mantis are sitting by the bed, Mantis holding one of Peter's limp hands in both of her own. Rocket doesn't know if she's trying to keep him relaxed or try to gage his emotions; Peter is comatose so both options seem pretty futile but he doesn't have the heart to tell her that.

Gamora is sitting beside her, one hand resting against Peter's chest. She's staring at his face watching for any sign of wakefulness, and she's so immersed in the act she barely notices them return.

Yondu does though, stepping out of the way from where he was keeping watch by the door. "Took ya long enough," he mutters, nodding to Kraglin as they walk in.

"Blow me," Rocket retorts over his shoulder, the remark flat and lacking its usual snark. He drops the armload of supplies on the floor next to the bed and begins assembling them deftly, creating a makeshift IV pole. He retrieves the two bags of plasma from Kraglin and hooks one of them onto the pole, setting the other bag on the closest table.

At one time the Milano had all the equipment necessary to start an IV if needed but now only contained a few clamps and cannulas and two usable lines. Necessary but not exactly helpful without all the other components. Rocket managed to pick up the parts they needed while on Knowhere and was now able to put them all to good use.

After a few minutes of piecing everything together, the IV is ready. Rocket hops up on the bed and takes Peter's arm when Mantis releases his hand. The crook of his arm is a mass of bruises and needle marks and Rocket feels a low growl rumble in his chest as he stares at the ugly patchwork.

He tries to locate a usable vein but it's nearly impossible; Peter's blood pressure is so low the veins have collapsed in his arms. He slides the needle in twice, each time unsuccessful, and curses bitterly.

Sighing, he moves up to the head of the bed and tips Peter's head to the side. His jugular vein is the next best option but it was something Rocket was trying to avoid. Still, they don't have much of a choice and Peter needs the Universal Plasma right freakin' now so Rocket settles with the new approach.

"Sorry about this, Quill," he mutters as he slides the needle into the large vein in the side of Peter's neck, securing the line deftly with a strip of tape.

"How'd you learn to do all that?" Kraglin asks, nodding toward the reconstructed IV pole.

Rocket frowns and shakes his head. "Trust me, I've been in enough labs and medical facilities to know my way around the equipment," he says, the words coming out bitter and raw like they leave a bad taste in his mouth. "Now everybody strap in. Our next stop is Xandar."

* * *

 **More to come soon guys! :D**


	11. Vigil

**Hey guys! Hope you're doing well! Nothing too exciting happens in this chapter, just kind of a quiet bonding moment between Gamora and Yondu. Anyway, hope you all enjoy it! :D**

* * *

Peter is cold.

That's what Gamora hates the most. She can deal with the stillness and the quiet and the worrying pallor of his skin. She can deal with the fact that he's barely breathing, that his heartbeat is little more than a dull thud beneath her palm. She can handle all of that. But she can't stand him being cold.

Because Peter is not meant to be cold, he never has been. He's all bright smiles and warm laughter, a summer day personified. He's warm in the way he speaks and moves and sings. He's warm when he holds her, when he pulls her close and slow dances with her in the lower half of the ship. He's warm when he holds her hand and spins her, when he whispers the lyrics to all the silly songs on his mixtape and she pretends to be annoyed. Peter is warm and that's how he should be. Except he's not, not right now, and she would give anything for him to be warm again.

The universal plasma had brought a little bit of color back to his skin but he's still far too pale for her liking. His breathing has evened out slightly over the past few hours and his pulse seems a little steadier albeit still too shallow and weak. It's progress but he's still so _cold_. There's a chill in his skin, core-deep and stubbornly refusing to disappear, and it lingers in spite of everything.

Gamora keeps one of her hands on him at all times, wrapped lightly around one arm or pressed flat against his chest. When no one is watching, she'll reach out and interlock their fingers, stroking her thumb across the back of his hand in a futile attempt to bring some of the warmth back to his skin. She doesn't know if he can feel it or if he's even aware of her presence but it makes her feel a little better.

They're alone now, the rest of the crew either asleep or tending to their own devices elsewhere on the ship. Everyone had taken turns sitting with him throughout the trip, filtering in and out of the room and trying to keep up some semblance of morale. They were worried, all of them were, but they were all doing their best not to show it.

Gamora never leaves Peter's side; she flat out refuses to let him out of her sight again at least for the next few days. She sits with him through the long, silent hours, alternating between watching his face and watching the slow rise and fall of his chest. She keeps hoping he'll wake up soon, that he'll come back with a smile and a joke, but logically she knows that won't happen, not until they get him to Xandar.

She's holding his hand now, his cool, limp fingers linked between her own. Her chin is resting in her other hand, her attention resting on Peter's blank features. He looks like he's just sleeping, expression lax and unburdened, but she knows better and she hates. Suddenly she can't stand it anymore and she reaches out with her free hand, carding her fingers through his disheveled curls gently. Peter's hair is soft, it's always soft, and it almost makes her smile.

She lets her hand travel down, fingers tracing against his cheek briefly, before stopping to stroke her thumb up the bridge of his nose. It's an old, familiar gesture that fills her with equal parts longing and grief. It was something her father had done when she was a small child, a soothing sweep of his thumb up the bridge of her nose and through the space between her eyes. It was calming and grounding and she hadn't thought of it in years.

"I need you to wake up for me, Peter," she whispers quietly, her thumb following its path slowly as she speaks. "You're safe now. We need you to come back, okay?" Her voice sounds loud and intrusive in the silence of the room but she doesn't care. "Besides, you still owe me a dance."

"Kid'll probably take ya up on the offer," a voice cuts in from the doorway and Gamora can't suppress the jump of surprise that jolts through her.

Yondu chuckles and holds his hands up in a placating gesture. "Sorry," he mumbles as he steps into the room, snagging a spare chair from the opposite wall and dragging it over to the other side of the bed. "Figured ya might want a break seein' as how you've been glued to that chair for the past ten hours."

Gamora shakes her head slightly. "I'm fine."

"Figured you'd blow me off, too," the ex-Ravager says with a shrug as he drops into the chair. He spares a careful glance at Peter before sinking back into the chair. "How's he doin'?"

Gamora resists a disappointed sigh. "Same as before," she says, leaning back away from the bed. She keeps her fingers interlocked with Peter's, knowing Yondu had seen it and not really caring at the moment. "There hasn't really been any change."

Yondu shrugs like he'd expected as much and crosses his arms over his chest. "I wouldn't be too upset about it," he tells her as if their current situation is mildly concerning at best. "Quill's a stubborn bastard and won't be wakin' up till he's good and ready."

In spite of what he says, Gamora doesn't miss the way his eyes linger on Peter as he speaks. "'Sides," he says after a second, nearly to himself. "Kid's been in worse scrapes than this and he's always come out fine."

Gamora frowns and raises an eyebrow. "Like what?"

Yondu frowns as well, his in confusion. "What?"

"You said Peter's been in worse scrapes than this," she clarifies, shifting her gaze from the unconscious Guardian on the bed to the ex-Ravager across from her. "What did you mean?"

Yondu grumbles to himself, realizing he said something out loud he probably shouldn't have. Too late now that it's out in the open but still, he mentally berates and wrestles with himself for allowing the words to slip out. Finally, he sighs heavily and shoots Gamora a mild glare. "Shouldn't come as any great surprise to ya that bein' a Ravager ain't exactly a safe job. We used to get shot at, blown up, and nearly killed on about a weekly basis. Comes with the job and we all pretty much accepted it as an occupational hazard."

He nods toward Peter. "Our boy here wasn't any different. Kid's got a reckless streak a mile wide an' never could quite figure out how to keep himself outta trouble. If our normal danger level was about a ten, Quill was operating at about a fifteen. Wasn't ever a problem...till it was."

A dark, unreadable expression crosses Yondu's face for a brief moment and he shakes his head. "We had this job over on Broddus one time, a trade or somethin', I can't even remember. Anyway, we got ambushed in the middle of it and everythin' went to shit. Big shoot out, explosions, whole damn nine yards."

He fades off for a moment, clearly uncomfortable with reliving the memory. His gaze drifts to Peter and he stares for a few seconds. "Somewhere in the middle of everything I ended up with a target on my back. I never saw it but Quill did so when the bullets came...he got in the way."

Yondu stops and taps his fingers against his chest. "Took two rounds to the chest. I thought he was dead before he hit the ground. Still don't know how he managed to survive but he was still breathin' by the time it was all over." He sighs and shakes his head. "Spent two full days fightin' to keep his dumb ass alive before we got 'im back to ship. I lost track of how many times I thought he was gonna up an' die while we were stuck on that miserable planet."

He clenches his hands unconsciously, blue fingers curling into fists against his legs. "I've seen a lot'a terrible shit over the years, things that'd given give even the worst criminals nightmares. But watchin' him choke on his own blood while we were stuck on Broddus...that shit stayed with me for a long time. Took three days before I felt like my hands weren't coated in his blood anymore."

A heavy silence falls between them, broken only by the hum of the ship around them. Gamora says nothing for a long time; she's not used to seeing any kind of vulnerability from Yondu, especially when it was freely admitted. She knows if the situation had been less dire, she probably would have never heard this story from him, it was probably something he would have carried (back) to his grave. There's something about his tone of voice, the way his eyes linger on Peter like he's reliving it all over again, she can tell this isn't something he likes to talk about or remember.

Yondu is dangerous, just as deadly as she is, but there's something about Peter, none of them are really sure what it is or why it's so effective, but he has a way of getting under the skin, of undoing all the things they've done or even thought of doing. The worst part is that he probably doesn't even realize he has this effect on all of them and doesn't know what seeing him like this is doing to them. Peter's presence is powerful and undeniable and when he's vulnerable, they all are.

"My point is," Yondu says after another couple seconds of silence passes, looking up to meet Gamora's eyes. "Quill's a lot tougher than ya think. Trust me, there have been much bigger and badder things in the universe that have tried to take 'im out and none of 'em have succeeded yet."

He cracks a small, crooked smile. "Things might look bad right now but don't you worry yer pretty lil head. He'll pull through." He gestures vaguely around the ship with one hand. "He's got a lot to hang around for."

It's strange to see the ex-Ravager like this, quiet and subdued and almost...friendly. There has never been an occasion that she and Yondu were in the same room together where it didn't look like the former captain was about two seconds away from murder. But right now he looks just like the rest of them: exhausted, strung out, and worried about Peter.

"And yer not gonna do him a damn bit'a good if you run yerself into the ground worryin' about 'im," he tells her, nodding toward the door. "Go take a break for a while. We'll be reachin' Xandar soon."

She's hesitant to leave and for a brief moment she considers brushing away his offer again but then she suddenly becomes aware of just how _tired_ she is. Her back hurts, the muscles in her shoulders and neck rigid from tension, and she feels like her jaws have been clenched for so long the state is nearly permanent now. She figures a short break won't hurt; it'll give her a chance to walk around and check on Groot and make sure Rocket isn't chewing on raw coffee beans again. Still, she can't quite pull herself away just yet.

"You'll let me know if anything changes," she says, the words coming out as a statement rather than a fact.

Yondu nods once in agreement. "You'll be the first one I come lookin' for."

The assertion settles her nerves just a little and she nods more to herself than anything else. She squeezes Peter's hand one more time, brushing her lips across his knuckles very briefly before dropping his hand back onto the bed and standing slowly. It still feels wrong to leave but there's no one one the ship she trusts more to watch over Peter in her place.

She makes her way to the door, pausing for just a moment to look back over her shoulder. Yondu is no longer looking at her, instead his attention is focused solely on Peter. He watches his face, watches him breathe, just watches _him_. It's oddly intimate and the shift in his body language makes it clear that the ex-Ravager has taken up this vigil more than once. He'd probably flat out deny it and threaten to shoot anyone who brings it up but if there's one field Yondu excels in it's watching over Peter Quill.

Gamora feels a small smile tug at the corner of her mouth as she steps out of the room, leaving both ex-Ravagers in her wake.

* * *

 **More to come soon guys! :D**


	12. Waiting Game

**Hello everyone! Hope you're doing well! Nothing much to say about this chapter other than I hope you enjoy it! :D**

* * *

Being the saviors of Xandar certainly has its perks. An entire squadron of Nova Corps ships are waiting to escort them planetside and a twelve-member medical team is waiting the minute their ship is anchored. They rush onboard a split second after the doors open, further crowding the already cramped ship, and carefully begin loading Peter onto stretcher. It all happens very fast and by the time the team has Peter loaded and off the ship, the rest of the Guardians in tow, they've been on the ground for five minutes.

The medical facility they're taken to is a large, featureless white building that takes up several blocks of the main city. They're ushered into the building through a pair of bio scanners that flickers over each of them briefly, checking for both internal and external damage.

One of the scanners buzzes irritably when Drax passes through, the monitors picking up on the injuries he sustained in his fight with Reeper. Two crisply dressed nurses step over to intercept him and steer him in the direction of the nearest open examine room, completely ignoring the tattooed Guardian's protests.

The others are led to an open waiting area while the medical team tending to Peter continue walking toward a different wing of the facility. Gamora follows them even though the holo-sign above the door clearly states (in at least twenty-six different languages) that medical personnel only are allowed past that point. She doesn't care; she's determined not to let Peter out of her sight and a sign above a door isn't going to stop her.

The hand that catches her by the elbow does, however. She frowns and turns to see Yondu standing behind her, one blue hand wrapped gently around her arm like he's very aware that she could snap it in half if she wanted to. He shakes his head once at her confused expression and carefully tugs her back. "Let 'em go, girl," he tells her, voice gruff but a bit softer in the atmosphere of the hospital. "Ain't nothin' we can do to help Quill now that they can't. They'll get 'im patched up, don't you worry."

Gamora hesitates, debating between listening to the ex-Ravager or pulling away and pushing through those doors. She feels Yondu's fingers tighten on her arm just slightly.

"'Sides," he says, his voice a low warning. "Ya get us kicked outta this hospital before I see my boy again an' we're gonna have a problem."

She sighs heavily and nods, allowing him to pull her away from the doors and back toward the waiting room. It's a short walk but the openness of the room makes it seem longer, the walls around them stretching up high and tall into the equally high and tall ceiling. There are a few other visitors waiting throughout the room, some talking quietly, others sitting in silence, but no one wants to get too close to their little party. Between Rocket muttering, Gamora glaring, and Yondu scowling, they don't exactly give off the warmest of vibes.

Drax is released into the waiting room after a few more minutes, a synthetic skin patch stretched across his injuries. He joins the rest of their team and just looms like a tower, adding to their already scary demeanor.

At some point Drax pulls out one of his knives and begins examining it carefully, looking for any damage that may have been inflicted during his fight with Reeper. Gamora begins sharpening one of her own blades with a small whetstone and Rocket fumbles with something that looks a lot like a micro-blaster with Groot chattering away on his shoulder. In spite of the obvious appearance of weapons, no one steps forward to ask them to put them away. Maybe they're afraid, maybe they're sure said weapons won't be put to use anytime soon, maybe they're scared of getting stabbed and/or shot if they ask about it. Whatever the reason, no one bothers to tell them to put them away.

"Still making friends with the locals, I see," a voice cuts in and they all look up in unison to see Rhomann Dey standing in the waiting room, Nova Prime at his side.

"Hey, Dey, how's it goin'?" Rocket asks with a crooked, toothy grin.

The Denarian offers a half-smile and a shrug. "Not bad. Wishing we coulda met under better circumstances."

"We came as soon as we heard," Nova Prime says, her expression unreadable but her eyes troubled. "Is there any word on his condition yet?"

Gamora frowns and shakes her head. "Nothing yet."

Prime nods once. "Well, this is the best place for him. This Xandarian medical facility is the best in this part of the galaxy, they'll take excellent care of Mr. Quill." Her eyes land on the other members of their group, seeming to just now realize there were more of them than last time. "Oh," she says quietly in a tone that's somewhere between surprise and apprehension. "I see you've added to your team."

Mantis offers a tiny wave in response and the two former Ravagers just nod in acknowledgment.

Prime's expression remains neutral but Dey looks like he's just swallowed something covered in spikes and battery acid. "Ravagers," he says and it's not so much a question as it is a statement. "You have Ravagers on your team now."

"That a problem?" Yondu asks, crimson eyes narrowing at the Denarian.

Dey holds his hands up in surrender. "Nope, not at all. Just making an observation."

Prime ignores the exchange between the two and steps forward, placing herself in front of Gamora. "We've sent out a fleet of Nova Corps ships and offered a reward for any information on Reeper. He's dangerous and he needs to be dealt with." Her eyes flicker from Gamora to Drax and finally to Rocket and Groot. "If we can find him I will make sure he can never hurt anyone again."

She nods to Dey who looks relieved to be pulled away from the awkward conversation. "Keep us updated and I'll let you know if we find anything on Reeper." And with that they turn and walk out of the waiting room, leaving a few Nova Corps officers behind in their wake.

The next few hours pass by uneventfully and concern has shifted into irritation and annoyance by the time a nurse comes to collect them to go see Peter. She warns them, gently, that weapons are not permitted inside the hospital wings and that they would need to leave them, _all_ of them, in the holding unit at the front of the building. The warning earns her a few grumbles but the Guardians obey and leave all their sundry knives, guns, and explosives in the secure containment unit.

The hallways are white and looming like everything else in the building and the nurse leads them down a long stretch of corridor to room at the very end of the hall. There is a woman waiting for them outside the door, her eyes large and dark and her skin a lovely lavender color. She offers them a small but warm smile when they approach.

"Friends of Peter J'Son Quill?" she asks although it appears she already knows the answer. Her voice has a soft, lilting quality to it and there's an unidentifiable accent the filters in between her words. At the round of nods, she continues. "I'm Lon, one of the attendants for Mr. Quill. He's resting comfortably right now."

"So he's going to be okay?" Mantis asks, her voice soft but hopeful.

Lon gives her another small smile. "He was extremely weak when he arrived; we had trouble stabilizing him at first. He's fortunate you had access to universal plasma, it saved his life."

Kraglin thumps Rocket on the back once in acknowledgement and Rocket does his best to look nonchalant.

"He's stable now," Lon continues, nodding slightly over her shoulder. "We have him sedated for the moment to facilitate the recovery but you're welcome to sit with him for a while as long as you're quiet."

"Any idea when he'll wake up?" Yondu asks, the question strangely subdued in the silence of the hallway.

Lon shakes her head slightly and frowns. "Unfortunately, that part is up to him. It could be a few hours, it could be a few days. Recovery from trauma, especially one as unusual as this, will take some time. The universal plasma prevented his organs from shutting down but his body was still deprived of a significant amount of blood for quite some time. We do believe he'll make a full recovery but it's too soon to tell how long that might take."

Her words are reassuring but also cautious in an effort to prevent over expectations. In a setting like this, there has to be a careful line between optimism and realism.

"Can we see him?" Gamora asks, feeling antsy and anxious the longer they stand here in the hallway.

Lon nods and smiles. "Of course," she says, stepping to the side and passing her hand over the scanner at the door. It slides open quietly and they step past her into the room, silently circling the bed their friend is currently occupying. Peter looks better than he did the last time they saw him, his skin a healthier pink compared to the alarming greyness it had been before. The hollows beneath his eyes are still bruise-dark and shadowed but he no longer has that fresh corpse look which is promising.

A handful of monitors line the wall behind him, the bio scanners constantly inputting information into the systems and adjusting the care as needed. There are two IV lines connected to Peter, one hooked into in his left arm and another in the back of his right hand. Peter is oblivious to all of this of course, his eyes closed and expression slack at the mercy of drug controlled unconsciousness. Still, his breathing is slow and even and his heart rate is stable which is remarkable improvement from before.

For a moment no one speaks and no one moves, they just stare at Peter wordlessly. Lon steps in and motions the person closest to her, Kraglin, toward one of the chairs that line the walls. "I know all of this looks intimidating but he's resting comfortably, I assure you. Once he regains consciousness we can start removing some of this but for the time being it's helping us keep an eye on his vital signs and fluid intake."

She punches something into one of the monitors behind the bed and turns back to face them. "We'll be coming by periodically to check on him but this will help you contact me directly if you need to," she says, pointing to a small button on the wall. "In the meantime, you're welcome to stay and keep him company if you'd like."

She offers one more small smile before turning and stepping out of the room, leaving the rest of the Guardians to gather around their friend. There's nothing to do now but wait.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading guys! More to come soon! :D**


	13. One step forward, two steps back

**Hello everyone! Hope you're all doing well! Peter's freak out is kinda, sorta, more or less based on personal experience. When I got my wisdom teeth removed and I was coming out of anesthesia I loudly and belligerently declared "I'ma fight the mailman" and then took off running down the hall. No one tackled me but they probably should have; I definitely had it coming. Anyway, hope you all enjoy! :D**

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Peter wakes up to the sound of voices.

They're soft and muffled and jumbled together and he doesn't recognize them. The words don't make sense but he knows they're talking about him and that can't be good. There are several different voices too, at least four or five, which means he's outnumbered on top of everything else.

He keeps his eyes closed, feigning unconsciousness for a while longer. It's hard to think and even harder to move. His body feels heavy and numb and he aches all over. He feels like he's been wrung dry and left to drown at the same time. Mostly he just feels drained, like every ounce of energy has been siphoned out of him. He's never felt so weak in all his life and it's certainly not something that's going to help him out of this situation.

He tries to remember what happened but he can't latch on to any one particular thought. His thoughts are a jumbled mess like the voices above him and all he can remember is the gleam of Reeper's claws and the needles in his arms. He thinks he must have been moved somewhere, maybe brought to a different buyer or dealer who had their own horrible plans for him. Wherever he is now, he doubts it's any better than where he was before.

He's cognizant enough to realize he's no longer strapped to a table anymore; rather, he's laying on something that feels remarkably like a mattress. There are still needles in his skin, pushed into the veins in his arms and hands, and there's a dull, staticky feeling of electricity above him. He's definitely somewhere new but he doesn't know where that is.

Doesn't matter really, he still needs to find a way to escape. The problem is, he's not sure if he has the energy for it. He feels like he couldn't shove his way past a feather right now, let alone the group of people who are hovering around him. Still, he has to try; staying where he is means certain death and he's not ready to give up that easily.

He doesn't give himself anymore time to think about his plan or debate what he's going to do; he has a very brief window of opportunity and he uses it. Gathering the small amount of energy he has, he pushes himself up off the mattress quickly and makes a desperate lunge for the nearest door. There's a quick, sharp pain as the IV lines are ripped out of his arms and hot, slick blood is suddenly streaming across his skin. He stumbles briefly, his bare foot sliding in a splatter of blood on tile floor, but it's not enough to stop him.

A sharp screech, almost like a siren, fills the room behind him. The voices that had been hovering around him are shouting now, yelling his name and grabbing for him but he doesn't stop. He runs.

He staggers into a long white hallway, shoulder bouncing off the opposite wall as he slams into it. He pushes off, a smear of blood streaking across the wall as he does. The lights overhead are blinding and it leaves him dizzy and disoriented. Someone shouts his name and he sees a flash of something green and blue and then something that looks like it's covered in hair from his periphery but his vision is blurry and the shapes don't make sense.

The siren follows him into the hallway, loud and piercing, and then suddenly there are people surrounding him, all clad in white and taking up a good majority of the hallway. Some of them are human but most of them are not and they're all reaching for him in unison.

Peter panics. He punches the one closest to him and shoves the other one out of the way and runs again.

He can see a door at the end of the hall and his sole focus is reaching it and getting out. His body has other plans though and his knees buckle beneath him, sending him sprawling to the floor. At least that's what would have happened if someone hadn't caught him from behind and tugged him backwards against them.

"Let go of me, you son of a bitch…" he growls, struggling violently to break the grip of the blue arms holding him down. Whoever is holding him is speaking, calling him by name, and that does nothing to quell the surge of panic building in Peter's chest.

He struggles again and manages to get one arm free, elbowing whoever is holding him in the face. It's a very small victory; between the blood loss and the temporary burst of adrenaline he can feel himself getting weaker by the second.

Someone drops in front of him then, a woman with dark, dark eyes, and she places her hands gently, ever so gently, on either side of his face.

"Sleep," she says simply and Peter has absolutely no say in the matter anymore. He drops unconscious immediately and sags to the floor.

 **OOOOO**

One thing that can be said about Peter Quill is that he never does anything halfway. Two hours after they take up residence in his room, Peter wakes up in the most violent way possible.

There's no warning, no slow crawl back to consciousness, nothing. One minute Peter is completely unconscious and the next he's in instant fight or flight mode, leaping off the bed and making a break for the door.

The move is so abrupt none of them know how to react at first, staring at their friend in confused shock and stunned silence. But then there's the wail of siren and the IVs are being ripped out of Peter's arm and blood is splattering across the floor and it's enough to jolt them all into action.

"Peter, stop!" Gamora shouts, trying and failing to catch his arm. "It's okay!"

"What the hell's wrong with him?" Rocket asks to no one in particular, scrambling toward the door with Groot clinging to his arm.

"He's confused!" Gamora shouts back, sparing a split second glance at the other Guardian. "He doesn't know where he is!"

"Someone grab 'im before he hurts himself!" Yondu growls but it doesn't happen quick enough because Peter shoots past him and out into the hallway.

"Peter!" someone else shouts (maybe Kraglin?) and then they're all in the hall just as a handful of white-clad orderlies show up to diffuse the situation.

"Peter, it's okay. It's us," Gamora tries again, holding her hands up in a non-threatening way.

"You're safe, Quill," Rocket interjects, trying to add to Gamora's reassurances. "We got you back."

Peter staggers slightly and stares at them but he doesn't seem to really see them. His eyes are glassy and unfocused and there's not even a hint of recognition in them.

"He doesn't recognize us," Yondu mutters quietly, his eyes locked on the panicked man in front of them. "He doesn't know who we are."

"What do you-?" Gamora starts to ask but she never gets a chance to finish as Peter bolts again. Two of the orderlies move to intercept him, one getting punched in the face for his efforts and the other getting shoved violently out of the way. It's pure adrenaline at this point; Peter is confused and panic-stricken and he's looking for a way out.

He runs down the hallway, barefoot and still bleeding, desperate to reach the door at the end of the hall. Fatigue and blood loss quickly catch up with him though and his knees give out halfway there. He stumbles and pitches forward and likely would have face planted in the middle of the hall if Yondu hadn't caught him in the middle and jerked him backward.

The ex-Ravager locks his arms around Peter's torso and drags him bodily to the floor, pinning the flailing Guardian to his chest. Peter is still in full fight or flight mode struggles violently against him, desperate to get away, but Yondu doesn't let go.

"Peter, quit," Yondu orders, tightening his grip as Peter continues to struggle.

One of Peter's arms gets loose and it catches Yondu in the face. He clenches his teeth in irritation and tightens his grip again. "Boy, knock it off."

"Let go of me, you son of a bitch…" Peter growls in response, thrashing frantically. In spite of his best efforts, however, he's quickly beginning to lose his grip on consciousness.

Yondu does the complete opposite and keeps his arms wrapped tightly around Peter. "Easy, son," he mumbles against Peter's temple, maintaining his grip as Peter continues to struggle weakly. "I gotcha."

Mantis appears in front of them then, slowly crouching down to where she's eye-level with Peter. She reaches out slowly, frowning when Peter flinches away from her, and places her hands on either side of his face.

"Sleep," she tells him quietly, putting as much force as she dares into the word. She wants him sedated, not comatose.

The command has an instant effect and the second it leaves her lips Peter goes limp in Yondu's arms.

The former Ravager nods at her. "Good job, kid," he says, readjusting Peter's unconscious form in his arms. Peter is heavy and limp as a corpse against him but his breathing is even and his heartbeat is fast but strong beneath Yondu's hand which is reassuring because the hallway looks like a crime scene. There's blood smeared all over Peter's arms and hands, streaked across the floor, splattered on Yondu's sleeves. It's a garish sight and more than a little alarming especially in the stark whiteness of the hallway.

A flood of medical staff suddenly fills the hall all around them and carefully (and warily because Yondu is casting a murderous glare at all of them) gather Peter onto a waiting gurney. IV lines are replaced, monitors reattached, and Peter is taken back to the room he had fled from moments before.

Lon is waiting for them in the room when they return and it's all Gamora can do not to take a swing at her as well. "What the hell was that?" she demands, gesturing toward Peter and the hallway and the blood that's still just _everywhere_.

Lon holds her hands up in a placating manner. "A reaction like that is not uncommon after the trauma your friend experienced. He woke up in a strange place, likely thinking he was still being held captive, and panicked."

"He didn't know who we were," Drax counters, his voice hollow and stricken.

Lon nods slightly. "A temporary symptom, I assure you. Brief episodes of amnesia are common during events of hyperarousal. Your friend is experiencing a classic fight or flight response; he believed he was still in danger and the flight response took over. His brain was not trying to recognize friend from foe, it was simply urging him to escape."

She glances at the unconscious man in the bed, her expression sympathetic. "I know how upsetting this all must be but I promise you a reaction like this is not uncommon. It might take some time but he will get better; just try to understand and be patient."

"So what do we do now?" Gamora asks, crossing her arms over her chest. She's not happy with the answer, none of them are really, but there's not much to be done about it at the moment.

"The best thing we can do now is wait for him to wake up again," Lon tells her simply, shifting her gaze away from Peter to focus on Gamora. "Then we can go from there."

"And what if he wakes up an' freaks out again?" Kraglin asks. Behind him, Mantis moves over to the bed and takes Peter's hand in both of her own, her expression sad and troubled.

Lon watches her carefully for a moment before answering. "When he wakes up again just reassure him that he's safe and no longer in danger. Waking up in a medical facility is often a scary and confusing experience and it will help if he wakes up to a familiar set of faces."

"So we're back to waiting again," Rocket mutters with a sigh as he slumps down into the nearest chair. "Great."

"I'm sorry, I wish I could give you a better answer but this is the best I can offer for now," Lon tells them, shaking her head slightly. There's a chirp from the tablet in her hand and she glances down at it. "If you'll excuse me," she says and walks toward the door. She pauses and looks back at them one last time. "Just be patient with him; it will get better, I promise."

It's a nice reassurance but once she leaves the room it feels flat and hollow; Peter is unconscious again and the room feels too large and too small at the same time. The waiting game starts all over again.

* * *

 **More to come soon guys! :D**


	14. Retribution

**Hello everyone! Hope you're doing well! We have one more surprise guest before this story wraps up so I hope you all enjoy it! :D**

* * *

Gamora is restless. She's not used to sitting still for this long and frankly she doesn't like it. She feels like she should be doing something, _anything_ , but she's not sure what. It's frustrating and it's making her impatient and edgy.

She's the only one awake at the moment which just adds to her restlessness. The rest of the Guardians are scattered all around the room, taking advantage of the quiet to catch some sleep where they can. Yondu and Kraglin are sprawled out in the chairs near the door and Drax is stretched out in one on the opposite side of the room. Rocket is slumped against the wall beside him, Groot draped over his shoulder and snoring quietly. Mantis is curled up in the chair on the other side of Peter's bed, one hand still resting on the bed from where she had been holding his hand earlier. She's exhausted, they all are, and Peter is asleep at the moment so it seems just as good a time as any to follow suit.

Peter regained consciousness a few hours earlier and didn't immediately try to run or start fighting any of them which was progress. He still seemed a bit confused as to where they were and what had happened but at least he recognized them now. He spent rest of the evening slipping in and out of consciousness, waking up for an hour or so sometimes and only a few minutes others.

Lon and a few other attendants came in a couple times to check on him, noting his progress and documenting it on their tablets. They didn't appear concerned with Peter being in-and-out of consciousness and explained that not only was it normal but also beneficial for his recovery. Him being awake was definitely a positive sign but he still needed rest to allow his body to recover.

And yeah, that's fine and all but Gamora is tired of waiting. It sounds childish, she knows, but she wants Peter awake and healthy, not weak and vulnerable and attached to a bunch of equipment she doesn't have a name for. The longer he's in this hospital, the longer he's in that bed, the more restless she gets. He shouldn't be here, this never should have happened, and she blames herself for it. She shouldn't have let him out of her sight; if she had just stayed with him-

"Knock it off."

Gamora jumps slightly and looks over the where the voice had come from. Rocket is watching her through half-closed eyes, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Don't gimme that look," he tells her, his voice low and quiet to keep from waking up the others. "I know what you're doin', Gamora. This wasn't your fault so quit blamin' yourself for it."

She frowns and shakes her head. "This never would have happened if we hadn't gotten separated. He nearly died, Rocket. If we had been even a few minutes later-"

"If, if, if," Rocket mutters, cutting her off before she can continue. "Ifs don't do anybody any good so stop with the ifs. We got Quill back and he's alive, that's all the matters. Killin' yourself over if we could have prevented it, what might have happened if we were too late, that ain't gonna help anything so quit it."

He looks at Peter's sleeping form and shakes his head. "I hate it too, ya know? I hate that this happened and that Quill paid the price for it but we got him back and that's all I care about. I ain't gonna spend a second of my time thinking about what might have happened if blah, blah, blah."

He reaches over and swats Drax in the knee when the tattooed warrior begins snoring again. "Because honestly the idea of losing Quill to a guy like Reeper…" he fades off and readjusts Groot on his shoulder gently. "I couldn't live with myself if that happened. So I don't and won't think about it. And you shouldn't either."

Gamora sighs heavily and nods. "You're right," she relents after a moment. "It's just-"

"It sucks, I know," Rocket says with a small shrug that causes Groot to mumble quietly in his sleep. "But focusing on this," he says, nodding toward Peter's bed again. "Helps it suck less."

Gamora feels a small smile tug at the corner of her mouth. For all his abrasiveness, Rocket was a huge softie at heart. She'd never tell him that obviously, she doesn't enjoy getting shot, but it's sweet nonetheless.

Her communicator buzzes against her hip and she looks down to read the incoming message. She straightens just slightly and unfolds herself from the chair, turning toward the door.

"Somethin' wrong?" Rocket asks, frowning in concern.

Gamora shakes her head and offers a reassuring smile. "Everything's fine. I just need to go check on something, I'll be right back."

Rocket doesn't appear happy with the answer but he doesn't try to stop her either as she steps out into the hallway and makes her way to the front of the building. The hallways are empty and quiet this time of night and she makes it all the way to the exit without encountering another person. She steps outside and rounds the corner to a small courtyard between the buildings.

Nebula is leaning against a tree, partially hidden in its shadow. She straightens when Gamora comes into view but she doesn't move. They're in a better state now but there's still a lot of anger and resentment Nebula is working through. Her first instinct is no longer 'aim for something vital' but she has to physically stop herself from going on the defensive when she sees her sister.

Gamora stops a few feet away, giving her sister plenty of space. She keeps her expression carefully neutral and makes sure her hands are open and empty when she approaches. She hates that Nebula still glances at them like she's expecting a weapon.

"You found him?" Gamora asks, her voice sounding strangely loud in the silent stillness of the courtyard. She already knows the answer but she feels she needs to ask anyway.

"I killed him," Nebula clarifies and Gamora already knew that too. She had expected nothing less when she told her sister about Reeper. Their exchange had been brief with Gamora relaying his name and last known location. She told herself she just wanted Nebula to be aware, to be on the lookout for him, but deep down she knew the truth.

It wasn't a hit, at least not explicitly, but she's known Nebula long enough to know she would likely take matters into her own hands if she saw fit. Apparently this was an instance in which she did.

She's also known Nebula long enough to know Reeper's death probably wasn't a painless affair. "Was it quick?"

Nebula gives her a dangerous smirk. "It took hours."

Gamora wants to be horrified by that but then she thinks back to finding Peter strapped to the table, limp and pale and barely alive, and all she feels is grim satisfaction. "Good," she says with a quick, short nod. "Did he give you any information about his buyers?"

Nebula scowls and shakes her head. "His voice was annoying so I ripped his tongue out. We didn't exactly have a lengthy conversation."

Once again, Gamora is not surprised or upset by the news; if anything she's disappointed she didn't get to do it herself.

Nebula shifts a bit uncomfortably and glares off into the shadows. "Just so we're clear I didn't do this for you or him or anyone else. Your idiot friend saved my life and I don't like owing debts."

Gamora nods once in understanding. "Of course."

Her sister still seems uncomfortable and crosses her arms over her chest in irritation. She does her best to appear as disinterested and nonchalant as possible when she speaks again. "So he'll live?" she asks, nodding toward the hospital.

Gamora nods again. "He'll be fine," she says, following her gaze back to the hospital. "He was sleeping when I left."

It's Nebula's turn to nod, a brief, barely noticeable dip of her chin. "Good." And with that she turns to leave, disappearing back into the shadows of the courtyard.

"Nebula," Gamora calls after her, watching as her sister stops on the other side of the tree. She has no idea when or if she'll see her again so she wants at least a few more words before she disappears again. "Be careful, sister."

Nebula glances back at her over her shoulder and gives her another short nod. "Stay alive," she replies and it's the closest thing Gamora will get to concern from her which is more than enough. And then Nebula disappears, leaving Gamora alone in the dark, empty courtyard.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading guys! :D**


	15. Fooled Around

**Hello everyone! Thank you so much for following along with this story and chiming in with your comments! You guys are the best! :D**

* * *

Someone is humming.

Granted, his thought process and spatial awareness have been shoddy at best for the past several hours but Peter is reasonably certain someone is humming beside him. He can't bring himself to open his eyes just yet, even the thought of it seems exhausting, so he lays there, still and quiet, and listens.

It's a woman's voice, soft and almost familiar. He thinks he recognizes the song but he can't get his brain to latch onto the name or the lyrics or anything substantial. It's nice though, whatever it is she's humming, and he likes listening to her. It reminds him of when his mother used to sit at his bedside when he was sick, her humming soft and soothing and driving away his discomfort.

He feels something move across the back of his hand and he nearly flinches at the sudden sensation. It takes a second for him to realize it's a thumb and that it's dragging soft, slow circles over his skin. It takes him another second to realize someone is holding his hand.

He opens his eyes slowly, forcing his eyelids up with every ounce of energy he has. It's irritating how much effort it takes but he manages to get them open and counts it as a victory. He blinks up at the ceiling, regaining a passing recognition of where he is at the moment. The room is darker than the last time he was awake, the walls cast in long shadows with only a few fixed lights illuminating the rest of the space. The sound of soft snoring and deep breathing is all around him and he can't really see anyone from where he's lying but he assumes they're all asleep.

"Hey," a voice beside him greets softly and it sounds like the person who was humming.

He turns his head to the side and sees a woman sitting beside him. Wait, not just any woman. Gamora. He always loves waking up and seeing her beside him.

He feels a small, tired smile trying to form but he doesn't know if he has the energy for it. "Hey," he greets back, his voice coming out as a dull croak.

"How are you feeling?" she asks, reaching up and brushing his hair away from his forehead with her fingertips. It's a strangely tender, gentle gesture, one she usually reserves only for him.

He thinks for a second. If he's honest with himself he feels terrible. He's exhausted and strung out, everything hurts, and he feels literally and physically drained. Still, he figures it could be worse so he opts for the more optimistic approach. "Tired," he answers honestly, squeezing her hand as much as he's able.

She squeezes back and gives him a warm smile. "That's understandable," she says quietly, tracing the bones in the back of his hand with her thumb again. "They want to keep you here for a little while longer but they said you'll be back on your feet in no time."

"That's a relief," Peter mumbles, shifting a bit against the mattress. "Because I'm getting a little tired of being flat on my back. Feels like I've been laying down for a week now."

Gamora frowns, her expression unreadable for a moment, and her grip on his hand tightens marginally. "I should have been with you," she says quietly after a moment. "I could have stopped him."

Peter shakes his head slightly and lifts her hand slowly, pressing his lips to her knuckles. It takes way more energy than he has but it's necessary. "It wasn't your fault," he tells her simply. "Crackpots like him are always going to be around, whether we like it or not. Someone will come after us because we're Guardians, the next will come after us because of Thanos," he fades off, a little breathless from talking so much. "They'll always be around."

He frowns a little and winces at the memory. "Kinda weird that this one was after my blood but, you know, to each their own I suppose." He presses another kiss to her hand, savoring the warmth of her skin for a few seconds longer. "If anything it was my own fault for letting my guard down. Should have known better."

Gamora smiles softly and reaches up with her free hand, cupping his face gently. "I'm just glad you're okay."

"I'm okay now," he tells her with a smile of his own.

A comfortable silence falls between them which is fine for Peter because as much as he loves talking to Gamora, the physical toll is starting to get to him. He feels heavy and sleepy again but there's one more thing he wants to ask before he forgets.

"What were you humming earlier?"

Gamora frowns in confusion and looks at him. "What?"

"You were humming something right before I woke up. What was it?"

Gamora goes still for a second and it's difficult to see in the shadows of the room but Peter thinks she might be blushing. "Just one of the songs that was on your mixtape," she tells him vaguely.

Peter smiles and doesn't push her any further; he remembers the name of the song and he's pretty sure calling her out on humming ' _Fooled Around And Fell In Love_ ' will get him punched. So he smiles and squeezes her hand and closes his eyes. "It was nice," he mumbles in response. "You have a pretty voice."

He can hear the smirk in her words when she speaks. "Go to sleep, Peter," she counters smoothly but he doesn't miss the way she keeps their fingers interlocked. "I'll be here when you wake up.

"I know."

He's nearly asleep again when he hears her start humming again.

* * *

 **Thanks so much for reading guys! :D**


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